Into the Depths
by robbobert
Summary: The story of how Red XIII came to be. Chapter 5 uploaded 16 Nov. 2007. For better or worse, Red XIII plays his hand for all to see. FInal Chapter.
1. The Welcome Mat

Disclaimer: Number one: I don't own the characters that Tetsuya Nomura owns. Number Two: Just a little foreword. When I began writing this story, my dog was very sick, and he has since died. Some of the things I saw, and some of the emotions I went through went into this story, so there is at least a little real-life experience behind what I write. Now, on to the story.

* * *

Chapter One

In and out…In and out…Numb, my senses began to return to me. It felt like I had been asleep for a long time. I still felt disconnected from the world, and I might as well have remained that way. But nevertheless, the first to return was my sense of smell. Through the darkness came a putrid stench, the likes of which I had never encountered before. The smell of urine and decay, death and other indescribable odors rushed forth and assaulted my nose, bringing me more to my senses. It struck a chord of fear and dread deep within me, which hung like a black void in the pit of my stomach.

Next, my sight returned, relaxed and out of focus at first, but better after a long moment. Soon after returned the rest of me. The first things I saw were the thick metal bars surrounding me. I lay on my side in a small cage on the ground, a cold metal floor stinging me from below. And the air temperature wasn't much warmer than that of the floor. Beyond the bars, the rest of the room stood silently, enclosed by dull blue metallic walls. The lighting was dim, coming only from two small overhead fixtures, but even so, I could see around the room many other cages like mine inhabited by creatures from all over the world (most of which I hadn't seen before, at least at that time in my life). The cages were stacked upon each other from ground to ceiling, like kennels, and they all had metal flooring like mine, lined with raised edges to form a tray of sorts. The tops of the cages were solid plates of metal so as to act like separators between each row of animals. A man dressed in some sort of uniform, holding a large weapon across his chest, stood solemnly like a stone mountain, at a closed metal doorway across from me, apparently guarding it.

I remained calm outwardly, but on the inside, I was frightened. Where was I? How had I gotten there? What had happened to me? I tried to think back to the last I could remember being in the canyon. My mind was still in a haze from sleep, but I could recall the color blue and a sharp stabbing pain, both somehow related to each other. My hind right leg was asleep, I realized, still numb. I put my head down to think and then picked it back up a moment later, unsure of what to do.

A low, threatening growl from the cage next to mine broke my thoughts. It came from what looked like a Nibel wolf from near home. Its fur was matted and raggedy, and it stood on only three legs, the fourth appearing to have been surgically removed. It continued to growl, putting up a front against me, though I could tell from its posture and where it stood in the far back corner of its cage that its growls were its only defense. It couldn't have fought if it wanted to. In shock at its disfigurement, I tried to avert my sight, but I only found my way to the other cages around the room. In one cage high up, I saw a small squirrel-like animal which was missing its right eye. The same as me. Another animal, a wolf smaller than the Nibel wolf, sat trembling in the back of its cage on the ground across from me, next to the metal doorway. An open sore on its face glistened in the low light. It seemed, as I continued to look around, that every one of the animals in the room, excepting the blue-uniformed man and me, had some sort of physical malady. The Nibel wolf's growls continued on, though in an increasingly subdued manner. It had lain down, and appeared to be tiring.

What in the world had happened to these animals? Such pitiful appearances... With only a single exception, I couldn't remember in all my life having seen anything so disturbing. It terrified me and a gave me a strange sense of helplessness.

The growling diminished and slowed to a halt, and all was quiet for a short moment. I could not get my mind to think through what had happened to me. And hardly any time had passed for me to think when, jump-starting my heart and breaking my concentration, the doorway the man in blue guarded sprang to life and slid rather noisily open. A second and third blue-clad man came into the room, each carrying one end of a stretcher about ten feet long. The second man stopped and talked to the one who had been guarding the doorway. I glimpsed at the side of each of the new guards a large weapon, a machine gun like that of the first guard. The third man also had at his side a smaller gun, not nearly as lethal in appearance as the bigger ones. More like a dart gun.

"Alright then," I heard the door guard say. "So who's up?"

The second guard took out a sheet of type-written paper and, inspecting it, said "Let's see... Thirteen. Red thirteen." The wolf in the next cage began growling quietly, but stopped after a short moment. The door guard looked slowly around the room and then pointed at my cage. Me?

"God, it stinks in here," the third guard said offensively. He and the second guard brought the stretcher over to the front of my cage.

I instinctively backed into the rear corner of my cage, growled, and prepared to fight. The third guard took up the small gun from his side and loaded it above the ceiling of my cage, so that I couldn't see. He then knelt down, coming up close to the face of the cage, stuck the muzzle of the gun between the bars, and pointed it at me. I unsheathed my claws and made a swipe at the gun, but the guard shot and retreated quickly from the cage, rendering my attack useless.

"Whoa, this one's still got some fight in him!" he exclaimed with a laugh.

Someone behind him responded, saying "wouldn't worry about it. It never lasts long."

The third guard tapped my cage mockingly with the butt of his gun, and I could see a malicious smile on his face. "What's the doctor want him for?"

I looked at the spot where I had been shot. A dart stood out from the fur on my shoulder, a tuft of pink fiber attached to its end.

"I don't know," the first guard replied. He fumbled for a few minutes through a large ring of at least fifty keys, trying to find one in particular, and stopped as he came to a large, distinctly shaped key with a triangular handle. "Some big secret project." His voice began to sound distant in my ears, like I was listening from the opposite end of a long tunnel.

"Oh yeah? What about?" I heard someone else ask. I didn't catch who—my mind had lost what little edge it had gained since I awoke. The voices became nearly indiscernible as the sleepy haze descended back down upon me.

"How do I know? ...You think they tell me? ...You are the captain after all... But that doesn't mean anything... Is he under yet? ...Close. Give it a minute to kick in fully... I heard there's a rumor that the Turks are involved in..."

A tranquilizer, I thought to myself, and I slipped away into sleep.

…

Entry Number: 1009134707

Date: 150986 19:39

Project: Red

Class: XIII

Subject located near the Gongaga Area. Arrived at approximately 15:00 hours yesterday, and kept under heavy sedation for 24 hour observation. Initial testing begun today around 15:00 hours. ID given (front and hind limbs). Blood and tissue samples taken for testing and karyotyping, respectively. Genetic compatibility? Sperm collection next shift for gamete study and comparison. Initial observations appear promising, but more in-depth study is required. Physical examination performed today as well. Subject appears physically healthy, excepting extensive scarring over the right eye (eye nonfunctional). Damage incurred early in life (GI War?), as widespread scar tissue is present and wound appears fully healed. The subject is adorned with several decorations, including bangles around each ankle and one or two metal earrings through each ear (possibly cultural in origin). Also, a fire burns steadily on the end of the specimen's tail. I had heard about this characteristic, but it is quite interesting to see in person. How is it that this fire does not burn or scar the subject, or even spread beyond its source position on the tail? I am happy that the pieces of my fine little puzzle are coming together at last. With any luck, our search will be concluded before too long.

END OF ENTRY

…

Blue surf, blue sky, blue bird, blue sea. To the sea I walk—why, I can't say. Just one of those things, I suppose. For the fun of it. The scent of the ocean salt runs deep through my nose at every breath, and the crisp, cool breeze plays lightly across my body, blowing my hair back at every gust. I am standing on the sandy front now, alone at midday, and the sky is clean and blue as far as I can see. How big and blue and utterly huge it all is! I could get lost just looking. And the view that great blue bird must have... I would love, just for a moment, to fly with that bird across the great blue sea and see what lies beyond...

…

I awoke slowly, hoping to find the familiar surroundings of Cosmo Canyon welcoming me back from my sleep. But it was instead the same putrid smell and dull grey lighting which welcomed me. The two guards and their stretcher were gone. My mouth was dry, and the skin on my shoulders and legs burned like fire against the cold air of the room. Through inspection I discovered at the source of the burning, tattoos in strange designs wrapping their ways around my limbs. On my left shoulder I saw, inverted, the number thirteen in Roman numerals. Dried blood clumped the fur around the tattoos together.

In the room around me, all the other creatures appeared at first to be sleeping. A sickening chewing sound emanated from a cage across the room where another squirrel-like animal with a bloodstained face looked to be biting at a wound on its leg. It paused for a moment and its eyes glinted at me, yellow in the darkness of its cage. After a short second, it returned its attention to its leg. Revolted, I looked away and saw the wolf in the cage next to me, sleeping. It had tattoos as well, much the same as mine.

At the metal doorway a different man in blue stood guard. He was taller than the previous guard, but thinner and of a more slight stature. He held a large machine gun at his side and stood silently in place.

I stood to my feet and walked to the front corner of my cage. "What is this place?" I called out to the man. The noise from the squirrel stopped, as though it too were waiting for an answer. The man glanced quickly at me out of the corner of his eyes and then looked back ahead, pretending not to have heard me. "Hey," I called again, making sure he heard me this time. "Man in blue. What is this place?"

He looked back in my direction, and after a moment of apparent deliberation, said flatly and in a quiet manner "I'm not supposed to talk with the test subjects." He looked back ahead, noticeably uncomfortable. I was trying to get an answer out of a brick wall.

"What's your name?" I asked, undeterred.

Again, the guard looked over at me quietly. "...Simms."

My mind worked the task ahead of me, and for a moment my legs seemed to stop burning. "Well, Simms, I have a name too. I'm Nanaki. I live in Cosmo Canyon." He didn't seem to know where Cosmo Canyon was (he made a strange face at my mention of it). "Where do you live?" I continued, getting back to the point.

"How is it you can talk?" he asked, deftly dodging my question.

"How is it that _you_ can talk?" I answered back. I've always resented questions like that. "We're both animals in here. I merely have more legs than you."

"And fur." He retorted.

"What do you call all of your hair?"

Simms seemed amused by this, and said with a half-smile "you're pretty sharp for an animal. I live here in Midgar."

Disregarding his insult, I said "It's nice to meet you, Simms from Midgar. You wouldn't happen to know what time of day it is, would you?"

"It's not. —Day, I mean. I run the night shift here at HQ." He spoke a bit more freely, though he still stood his post more or less at attention.

"Really? Where's the other guy? The one who was at the door before you?"

"You mean Grant? He works the daytime here. One of the perks of being the captain of our unit, I guess."

"What, having normal sleeping hours?"

"Yeah," he said with a slight chuckle. "And here I am, nearly nocturnal."

"Sounds like fun." I detected a hint of envy in his voice.

"Oh yeah. You got that right. Me and Grant changed shifts while you were with the professor in the OR."

"The OR?" I had heard that term somewhere before. But where? After a moment the meaning came to me. "The Operating Room?" I asked in surprise.

"Don't worry. Today wasn't anything big. Just ID tattoos and a DNA extraction. Oh, and some blood tests too. You know, see if you have any diseases."

"And what's the word? Am I healthy?" The question was meant as a joke, but I gathered by his response that Simms missed the punch-line. Not quite the brightest bulb in the barrel, that man. Maybe a good thing in the long run.

"You think they tell me? All I ever get is the work schedule, and even then I don't know exactly what's happening sometimes." He paused. "But speaking of ID, how do your tattoos feel?"

"My legs feel like they're on fire," I said plainly, looking again at the thirteen etched into my shoulder.

"Yeah, those ones do burn. They're special—permanent, even changing fur color. Couldn't remove them even if we wanted to."

"Permanent?" I repeated, somewhat in shock. The blackened fur seemed to darken, even as I watched it. I remembered the stretcher guard calling me Red XIII.

"Sorry," Simms apologized. "But that's nothing compared to some of the other things that happen here."

In the next cage the Nibel wolf stirred and rose on its three legs, reset itself, and lay back down to sleep.

"Why? Why would you do this?"

"It's not my call. I couldn't ever do the things the doctor does here. But I guess it's all in the name of science."

"Then you object to what he does?"

"Yeah, I guess I do. But I'm still pretty new here, so I maybe I'm just not used to it yet."

"If you object, why don't you stop it?"

"It's not that easy."

"Well then why doesn't someone else try? Maybe you could form a group of people... There's strength in numbers, right?"

"Here's the deal: This lab is more or less top secret. Under the radar, you know? And the company wants it to stay that way. They'd bury anyone who tried to expose them without blinking an eye."

"So your doctor...what, he basically has free reign to do whatever he wants in here, doesn't he?"

"As long as it doesn't cost the company too much money."

"And so you just let all this...abuse go on?"

"Like I said, there's nothing I could do to stop it." He watched me with a vaguely sympathetic look.

The conversation lulled, and my "mission" to get some information was accomplished, so I lay back down to sleep. But my mind mulled restlessly over my situation for a few hours. Eventually, a question came to my mind, a strange one, seeming to have come out of nowhere. "Hey, Simms?"

"Yeah?"

"Is there a bathroom hidden somewhere in here?"

The same look of sympathy was his response. The fetid stench of the room hit me again as though it had been waiting specifically for that moment, and I was disgusted. As I put my head back across a foreleg to rest, the sound of chewing, which had halted over the past few hours since my conversation with Simms, began again, reverberating grossly in my ears. The reality of this place began to set in on me. Up to that point, it hadn't really felt like someone had been playing a joke on me but now… I saw the wolf in my mind. What would they do to me here?

A few words escaped me, almost unwillingly, in a small whisper: "This can't be happening. This can't be real. Please, let me wake up soon."


	2. Settling In

Chapter Two

…

A sharp pain in my side, from high in the sky. I am running now, afraid to look back. Not what I thought it to be, not in the least. But for as far as I run, I cannot escape. To where? Across the red rocks to my home. High above flap the thunderous wings in beat. Where is the stairway to welcome me back? Several frantic minutes rush by; my mind begins to lag, and my body under me to fail. Nowhere in sight, still hidden in the distance. Losing my balance, I trip and fall, down, down, and down, onto the hard ground below. So close to home, but my legs won't move. A shadow falls over me as the sun is blotted out. The deafening beat echoes in my ears, and the thrashing wind whips me relentlessly, swirling around in an invisible quagmire on the rocks. Like a harbinger of doom, the bird descends, black in the sky, to the ground in front of me...

…

"—ll be back around 18:00 tonight. I still can't believe it can talk. It's pretty cool, huh?"

"How's that that it can talk?"

"I don't know. I asked, but it started trying to play mind games with me."

...An 'it?' I'm an 'it,' am I?

"Oh really?" A laugh.

"Yeah, it seems pretty intelligent..." Compassion. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say it's just a human trapped inside an animal. Really, it's kinda sad it has to be in here."

"...Don't tell me you're on this again. You're 'sad' it's here?"

"I don't know. Maybe. It's just that..." Dejection.

"You know what? Maybe this isn't the job for you." Anger. "I mean, it's only been a month since you came on, and this is twice now I've heard this from you. If you can't take the heat, you need to get out of here. Go and... work the lobby or something."

"Well you know..." Pause. "Maybe I'll just try like you said last time. But it's harder with this one. I feel like it's... more like me. More like us."

You wish.

"You're not supposed to talk to it anyways. It's against regulations." Irritation. "...You know I have to report this, right?"

"Yeah, I know."

A sigh. "Look, just go home, get some sleep, get yourself together, and come back tonight and start over again. Just don't think about it."

We'll see about that.

"Alright. Thanks, Grant. See you later."

The door opened and then slid shut a moment later, and the room was silent. I lay on my side, emerging from troubled sleep as the conversation unfolded and ended. The coldness of the floor soothed my still-burning left legs. Staring blankly out between two bars, I saw the guard from the previous day standing at the door, with his machine gun leaned up against a stack of cages directly to his left.

Slowly I rose to my feet and took a few steps to the front of my cell. The cage next to me, where the Nibel wolf should have been, loomed empty.

"Hey," I spoke out in a plain voice. "Your name is Grant?"

The man half-smirked and let out a strange sarcastic, airy laugh through his closed mouth. Other than that, however, he made no acknowledgment of my question.

"...Did Simms tell you my name, Grant?" I asked.

The smirk disappeared, and suddenly his face was rock hard, threatening almost. "I know about you. You won't fool me into talking so easily as you did Simms."

"So you're harder to trick than Simms then? But who says I'm even trying to fool you?" Grant grabbed his gun and stepped away from his post toward me. "All I want to do is talk with you. You'd probably be more fun to talk with if you're as smart as you say--"

"--Hey," Grant said forcefully, interrupting me. He rapped violently on the front of my cage with the butt of his gun. "Maybe you didn't get what I was saying. Shut your mouth, or I'll make it so you can't talk."

He crouched down in front of my cage as he said it, and had come eye to eye with me. His gun was pointed in my direction, though he hadn't actually aimed it at me. I doubted he would do anything to me, but he had a look in his eyes which made me hesitant to continue speaking. I remained silent and dropped all my niceties, only glaring through the metal bars at him.

"That's better," he said after a moment. "I guess it just needed to be made a little more obvious to you."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the large metal door he had been guarding slid open, letting bright white light into the room. Grant jumped to his feet and wheeled around to attention. Two guards, the same from the previous day, walked through the open doorway, carrying something on a stretcher between them.

Upon entering the room, the first guard, the one with the dart gun at his side, called out in apparent disgust "there's that smell again." He looked over at Grant, who still stood at attention, and greeted him. "Hey, Grant."

The two guards came in my direction, and as they approached, the Nibel wolf became visible, lying anesthetized on the stretcher. The metal door closed tight behind them, shutting the room into its former dull grey darkness.

I watched, quietly glaring, as the stretcher and wolf were put on the floor by the cage next to me. Grant dropped his attention momentarily to dig out the familiar triangular handled key from a huge keyring at his waist (apparently all the guards had this same set of keys). A moment later, the wolf was picked up and moved into its opened cage, and the cage door was closed and locked behind it. Taking the stretcher back to the large metal door, the two guards stopped and huddled around a white box on the wall that I hadn't seen before. The box had nine buttons on its face which were arranged in three rows of three. I watched intently as one of the guards punched six buttons in sequence, and then turned to Grant, who still stood in front of my cage, and said in a mocking tone to "have fun." The metal door opened, and he led the other guard out into the light.

As soon as the door closed, Grant slammed the butt of his gun against my cage, creating a sound like a gunshot which rattled the floor and pierced my ears.

"You better hope they don't report me for talking to you, because if they do, you can be sure I'll make your life a living hell." The man knew how to get under my skin like no one else I'd met in my life.

"A little late for that, don't you think?" I growled back at him in a sharp tone.

"Shut up." Grant walked back to his post.

If only the bars hadn't been there... I almost laughed to myself, thinking that thought. A moment later, though, I heard in the next cage subdued whines and whimpers coming from the wolf. It lay on its right side, and the sounds came from it at every exhale. Its front left leg had been shaven at the shoulder, and the exposed skin showed black where it had been tattooed. A long stitched up incision ran through one of the black areas, stained a muddy orange color by iodine. For about twenty minutes the wolf's pained whines continued, and then it stirred. It attempted to rise to its feet, but the stitched-up left leg appeared unable to move, rendering the wolf immobile. Two good legs aren't enough to walk on. Watching the wolf's strained movements as it tried to get to its feet disturbed me, but for some reason I could not break my gaze. I wanted to look away, but I ended up watching in dismay and interest as it yelped and whined and even began to snarl in pain. But why? Perhaps I wanted to see it succeed in standing up, but maybe... Was this place as overpowering as Simms said? Was there really no escape from it? Whatever the case, the wolf eventually exhausted itself and remained in a heap on its side. I glanced across the room at Grant, who stood unfazed, like a mountain, in front of the metal doorway with his gun leaned up against the cages to his left.

Within a few hours the wolf's shaved leg seemed to have become functional, and it again began struggling to find its feet. This time, however, it was successful, rising shakily and in apparent pain. As it dipped forward to stretch its underside, I heard a sick tearing sound followed by a sharp yelp from the wolf. It jumped back to a standing position and its back hunched as though from shock. It stood frozen in its spot, giving me a chance to see through the darkness that the stitches on its shoulder had given way, allowing the underlying incision to rip open. Red tissue underneath was exposed against the brown skin and the black of the freshly disfigured tattoos. It was ten minutes before Grant noticed the wound and called over a walkie-talkie for some guards to bring it to the professor's attention. Ten more minutes later, two guards, different ones this time, came with a stretcher, tranquilized the wolf, and took it out of the room.

Only a few moments later they returned, carrying an empty stretcher, and came to my cage. One of the guards stepped forward and pulled a small dart gun from his waist. I rose to my feet and growled at him in resistance as he shoved the barrel of the gun between the bars and took aim at me. There was a quick, sharp popping sound, and I saw a brief flash of the pink tuft of fiber as it rushed forth and pierced the skin around my neck up near my mane.

The guard pulled the gun back and retreated from my cage, and I quickly scratched the dart from my neck. A slight stinging sensation remained where the dart had been, but after a moment or two though the area went numb. Inevitably, I began to have trouble keeping my balance, and my sight began to relax. I sat down to try to steady myself, but I ended up on my side. Directly in front of my face, the pink fiber of the tranquilizer dart lay innocently on its side as well, seeming almost to mock me. I tried to reach out and grab it with one of my front paws, but it was just out of my reach. For several minutes after that, I tried to focus on the dart, but ultimately I could not keep myself awake.

…

Entry Number: 1009134752

Date: 160986 12:52

Project: Red

Class: XIII

Subject taken for sperm collection. Secondary sedative administered as safety precaution. Also, second blood sample taken. Karyotyping to begin over the next few days. Chemical testing next shift to begin testing for physical/psychological reactions to several substances. Possible correlation to reactions in humans? I remain optimistic about the project's chances for success, but I will feel much better as testing progresses and things begin to come together. Until then, I will do as much as possible to ensure the compatibility of my pieces.

END OF ENTRY

…

I awoke still in the confines of my cell. I felt exhausted, and the muscles of my hind quarters and my abdomen and sides were sore, but I managed to climb to my feet. The Nibel wolf had not been returned yet. Across from my cage, Simms stood guard, his rifle at his side.

Though my mind was still in a haze from the tranquilizers, I tried to initiate a conversation. "Is it night again already? How long did they have me out?" I shook out each of my back legs to try to rid myself of the soreness.

"I'm really not supposed to talk to you..." Simms spoke in a quiet manner.

"Oh, come on. What bad could come from it?" I dipped into a stretch like the Nibel wolf's to try to get the soreness out of my abdomen, but to no avail.

"Demotion," was his only response, and then he was silent.

I stopped stretching for a moment and watched him. Was I going to have to do this all over again? Quickly, I switched gears. "Oh, I see. What, are you going to shut me out? Turn me back into a dumb animal, no conscience, no consciousness? Make it so you can stand working in here?" I paused. For dramatic effect I guess. "I'm just another one of your doctor's experiments, huh? No thought or morality involved there. Makes it pretty easy for you."

Nothing. I would have to continue.

I began again, on a slightly different course this time. "You know, you're in control of your own affairs. If you feel so badly about being exposed to this place, then why don't you just quit? Just leave and don't come back. At least you have that choice. I'm not that lucky."

Still nothing.

"But if you're going to make the decision to stay, then at least don't take the easy path and shut me out. Talk, and take comfort in knowing you're making my captivity at least a little easier to deal with. All I can do from in here is talk. That's my only choice. And it's a lot easier to do if there's someone here I can talk with."

I watched over the next few seconds for any sort of response. Simms stared blankly ahead, but I could tell he was thinking about what I'd said. But after a moment with no response, I sat and then lay down.

"...About six hours," came Simms's voice a long few minutes later. I looked up at him, and he looked over at me. "Apparently they over-tranqued you. Had you under for almost six hours after they brought you back here. It's about 19:00 hours right now, so the night's still young."

"Plenty of time for fun, eh?" I responded.

Another few minutes passed, and then Simms spoke again.

"I... I do feel bad about it—about being here, but..." He paused and then continued. "And maybe that's why I'm still here. I can't in good conscience just walk away from this job knowing that these things go on." He looked back ahead, at a cage above me, out of sight. "It hurts me to see some of the results of research that the doctor performs, but I feel like I have to stay.

I listened quietly, knowing I had accomplished my goal. And quickly, at that.

"I don't know why. Maybe it's guilt. Maybe I hope that I'll be able to do something about it someday. But no matter how much it troubles me, I just can't leave." Stepping away from his post, Simms walked over and knelt in front of my cage. "I heard from Grant they're about to begin the heavy duty experiments. You're going to have to be strong, or you'll end up like the others in here."

"What does your doctor want with me?"

"I don't really know. Like I said before, all I get is the work schedule, and that's nothing to go by. I do know that it's top secret right now, and soldiers on my level are kept out of the loop on things like that. Plus, everyone who knows anything important is on strict orders not to talk."

"Really?"

"Yeah, but still, I've heard that rumors have been floating around HQ about you and your kind ever since the GI War 40 years ago. You're actually the first proof any of it is true. I personally heard that they've been searching for both you and somebody else since then.

"Someone else?"

"I don't know. I've heard a bunch of different stories. He's a fugitive. He's a spiritual leader. He's a former soldier gone bad. You name it, I've heard it. Newest theory I've heard is he's actually a local woman hiding out in the city somewhere. But who knows anymore." He stopped, and the room was quiet.

"—And that's it?" I asked after a few seconds. "No ideas why they want me and this 'fugitive soldier gone bad'?"

"For all I know, you and him are totally unrelated, and the professor just wants to see what makes you tick."

I sighed. All of this information, and none of it particularly useful. I looked away, toward the darkness in the back of my cage. What makes me tick...

In apparent response to my sigh, Simms repeated "Nanaki, you have to be strong if you want to get out of this place in one piece."

I turned and looked back at him pleadingly. "Couldn't you just let me go free?" I had to try.

No response. Didn't really expect any sort of answer anyway.

I put my head down to sleep.

…

Some time later, I awoke again and immediately felt a familiar pressure in my hips. I knew what it meant.

How long had it been now? Two, three days? I sat up, and the pressure worsened as my weight shifted. Looking around, searching, I saw Simms standing silently at his post. The Nibel wolf still had not returned. What had happened to it? But now was not the time for that. Behind me in a corner of the near-complete darkness of the back of my cage, a small raggedy white towel lay unfolded and messy. Did they expect...? I remembered the sympathetic look Simms had given me the previous day, and as I did, the pressure mounted and became almost unbearable. I looked back around the room, concerned, and Simms saw me.

"What is it?" he asked. "You look antsy."

I glanced back at him, stilled by his voice. "...Nothing."

"Nothing, huh?" He looked down at the floor and then back at me. "Well you might as well get it over with if it doesn't bother you."

Did he know? But how? "What? Where?" I said in disbelief.

The look I'd remembered crossed his face again. "...It's demoralizing, I know, but you'll have to eventually... Just try to do it somewhere out of the way."

Was he serious? Did he think I would actually... I hesitated and looked again at the white towel. But I knew he was right. Eventually... Just get it over with. I looked back at Simms for a split second, and rose to my feet and moved to the semi-dark back of my cell. Using one of my forepaws, I spread the towel out—it was even smaller than it had looked before. Even as bad as it was, I nearly had to force myself. The muffled metallic pinging stabbed at my ears and seemed to ring on forever in the silence of the room.

As I lay back down in the front of my cage to return to sleep, I found myself fully awake and somewhat numbed by what I had done. I hung my head and looked lifelessly at the floor in front of my face, lost in thought. Like some shapeless monster, come forth to attack, the horrible scents of the room seemed to close in around me, and I smelled myself now amidst them, even more caustic than the rest.

"...Please...let me wake up soon..." I pleaded to myself in a whisper.

I could not get to sleep that night. Thoughts of Grandfather Bugenhagen and Cosmo Canyon ran through my mind and troubled me.


	3. Resistance

Chapter Three

1.

For the first time since I had arrived, I saw the shift change for myself. Nothing spectacular. But then, why should it be? After an agonizingly long night, the big metal door slid open and bright light shone in from the outside, like the sun was rising right outside the room. The intensity of the light blinded me momentarily, and I ultimately had to look away to the empty cage to my right to keep it from becoming permanent. My mind was in a fog, partly from having been awake for the entire night, and partly from the dull, static backdrop that room had provided me for the past few days. The light was a welcome change to the numbness I felt, but still, I could not look at it.

Before too long, I heard footsteps entering the room. The door slid closed, and again I could look in its direction. Grant had entered, and now stood facing Simms, talking very quietly so that I almost couldn't hear.

"...How'd it go last night?" he asked, tipping his head at me.

"Fine... It went fine. Getting used to this place, I think," was Simm's response.

"Good, good." He sounded relieved. "Well, good job. You can head home now. See you tonight."

"Alright." Simms went over to the box on the wall and punched in the six-button sequence. The door responded, opening, and light rushed in again.

I averted my gaze, just like before, and after a moment I had adjusted enough to the light to be able to look outside. Not much to see out there. From the looks of it, a hallway ran a path by the room. Its walls were painted white, presumably to brighten the place up. Maybe to help boost the morale of the guards. If it was the same out there as it was in here, they certainly needed it. The wall I saw was nondescript—only a small pipe ran vertically down it, from the ceiling on through the floor.

Simms had walked back over to Grant, I noticed after a moment, and was whispering something to him. He finished whispering right after I noticed him, and began walking out the open door. When he was most of the way out, he glanced over his shoulder at me without breaking step and waved subliminally with his free hand (the other one held his rifle). I didn't register it at first, and instead watched with a blank look as the door closed behind him. I glanced over at Grant, who was watching me with an odd smile on his face.

"What do you want?" I asked in a low tone.

Grant said nothing, only holding his index finger up to his still-smiling mouth.

My stare turned instantly turned into a glare, but it didn't seem to affect him. Not as long as he was on the other side of the bars...

I remained in my spot for most of the rest of the day, more or less in the same foggy, disconnected state of mind. My legs didn't feel like moving, and neither did I. After all, where was there to go? There was the front of the cage and the back, and I didn't want to step foot in the back of my cage.

Some time in the afternoon (I can only assume it was the afternoon since there were no windows and Grant wouldn't speak to me if his very being hinged upon it) the big metal door opened again, and two guards entered, carrying a stretcher between them.

"Getting started early today, huh?" Grant asked one of them.

"Yeah. The professor's changing up his schedule a bit. Wants more time to work on his new project." As he said it, the other guard looked over at me.

"Great," said Grant. "Let's do this."

They brought the stretcher over to my cage, and as they did so, I silently got to my feet and backed into the back of my cage. One of my hind feet stepped on the towel from the night before and slid out from under me. I staggered to the side but stayed on my feet. I was ready.

One of the guards loaded his tranquilizer gun, and as he bent down and put the gun between the bars, I rushed the front of the cage. He had no time react before I was right on top of him. I slammed into the front face of my cage and reached both my front legs through the bars and grabbed a hold of his arm with my claws. He seemed in shock at first, and then he started shouting and screaming in pain as I pulled his arm into the cage. Before he could break free of me, I opened up and bit down as hard as I could in the middle of his forearm, causing him to drop his gun just inside the bars. Almost immediately, I could taste blood in my mouth, even through the sleeve of his uniform.

His screams continued and eventually turned into a continuous repetition of the phrase "get it off! Get it off!" He tried to pull away, but to no avail.

Several things were happening all at once: the other animals in the room seemed to pick up on the guard's panic, and were, for a lack of a better term, going crazy in their cages, rattling the doors and generally making a racket. Also, the other guards were surprised by my actions, and as a result were unable to make a move for what felt like a long time (even though only a few seconds' time elapsed). Lastly, the screaming, and the taste of blood too, I suppose, seemed to fuel me. Suddenly I was fully alert, and the fog in my mind had lifted. I bit down harder into the guard's arm and began scratching at it with my claws with as much force as I could manage. About the time I heard something in his arm crack under the pressure of my jaw, the other guards regained their wits and ran over to help. Grant immediately equipped his rifle and took aim at me while the second guard tried to pull his partner away from me. Pulling on him didn't work, and only seemed to make the pain worse for him. I stopped scratching at the man's arm, which by now had been all but ripped apart, and without releasing my bite, I rolled my eye up to make sharp eye contact with Grant. His face was rock hard and emotionless, seemingly out of place in this situation. The rifle sounded once, and I was hit in the chest. It felt like the air had been taken out of me, but I didn't let go of the guard's arm. A split-second later, Grant shot again. This shot hit me in the back up by my mane and seemed to hurt noticeably more than the previous one. But still, I kept my grip.

Over the top of the guard's screams and the sounds of the other animals in their cages, I heard Grant's voice: "Don't think I won't kill you!"

I bit down harder in response, and the guard's screams spiked. Grant took aim again, this time toward my head, and fired. Whether he truly intended to kill me and just had bad aim or intentionally missed my head, I don't know, but either way, the bullet pierced my neck with enough force to knock me to my side and release the guard. I tried to get back up, but for some reason I was unable, only pushing off the face of my cage with my front feet, rotating in place as a result, and then pushing myself away from the bars with all four legs at once.

Seeing this, Grant lowered his gun.

The taste of blood was thick in my mouth, a mixture of the guard's and my own. In front of me, a smear on the ground—apparently the bullet to my neck had exited too, and I had smeared the blood when I pushed off the bars. The guard's tranquilizer gun was covered in dark red, almost black in the room's dim light, as was much of the floor in my cage around it. I felt stiff, my neck especially, but there was little or no pain involved; adrenaline coursed through my veins.

Outside the bars, the guard I had attacked lay in a crumpled wailing heap. His arm, which was exposed under his shredded uniform sleeve, was a limp, bloody mess, and his partner was crouched over him, trying to console him in any way possible.

Grant picked up his walkie-talkie from his side. "We have a level one emergency in holding quarters C. The situation has been contained, but we have an officer with severe injuries to his arm. Requesting back-up." The entire time he spoke, he kept his eyes on me. Did he think I was going somewhere? A thin sheet of blood seeped out from under my neck, and I could feel the cold of the floor pressing against the wound.

A moment later, a voice responded over the walkie-talkie. "I read you, Grant. Back-up is on the way. I've informed the professor, and he wants you to talk to him on the comm."

Grant responded "Gotcha. Thanks."

I could only lie on my side and watch the pool grow. My legs wouldn't move, and there was a strange pressure in my throat restricting my breathing.

"Yes sir." Grant had called the doctor. "Private Cray was attacked."

"By whom?" came a tinny voice over the walkie-talkie.

"Thirteen. I had to take it out before it would release him."

"You what?"

"I...I shot the animal to save Cr—"

"Did you neutralize it?"

"No, but it's bleeding pretty profusely from the neck."

"Find someone and get the specimen to me immediately."

"But sir, Cray—"

"Cray can wait. This can't. Get the specimen to me now. If it dies–"

"–Yes sir." Grant put his walkie-talkie back at his side and came up to my cage. "Hold still," he said to me. "We have to take you to the professor." He grabbed his key ring, found the triangular key, and opened the cage door. Reaching in, he attempted to grab me around the head and drag me out, but I managed to move my head and bite his hand weakly before he could get to me.

He pulled back and cursed at me. "We're trying to help you! Are you too stupid to see that?"

"...Is this how you help?" I muttered. I could hardly speak, and what little voice I did have was raspy.

"Fine." He grabbed the red dart gun from the floor in my cage and shot me with it. Before long, I slipped under.

…

Entry Number: 1009134911

Date: 170986 17:47

Project: Red

Class: XIII

A setback. The specimen was severely injured in an attack on a guard earlier today. Three GSWs sustained, two to the abdomen, one to the neck. Abdominal bullets removed surgically. Luckily, both bullets missed all vital organs and lodged themselves in accessible areas (one near the hip, one just inside the rib cage). The neck wound proved to be more problematic. Exit wound was extensive, and the bullet nicked an artery and perforated the trachea. Had much more time passed, the specimen may have exsanguinated or suffocated. It's a miracle he is still alive. Exit wound sutured and internal damage repaired. Grant seems to have lucked out—Red XIII has stabilized since the surgery, and should make a full recovery. No further ICW time required. However, my schedule must be delayed for some time until these wounds heal sufficiently. I could use materia to heal the specimen, but in my experience, these injuries heal better without that sort of aid. I have instructed that private Cray take some time off to recover in this same manner. Understandably, he is uncomfortable healing wounds this serious (puncture wounds and severe lacerations to the forearm, compound closed fracture of the radius and ulna) without the aid of materia, but that's not my problem. For now, the specimen will be allowed to rest, and in a week or so, chemical testing will begin.

Outside of this setback, there is good news. Karyotyping and gamete analysis are complete, and have returned positive results. I have determined that the subject possesses several acrosomal proteins in common with the human egg; he also has a diploid number of chromosomes equal to that of humans. Further analysis indicates incredible results. I suspected the DNA karyotyping would yield at least some similar gene structure and locii, but the extent to which the specimen's DNA is comparable to human DNA is, quite frankly, astounding. I am excited to continue and complete testing.

END OF ENTRY

…

I woke up in a lot of pain. My cage had been cleaned of the guard's blood, as had the ground outside. Grant was gone—Simms now stood in his place—and the animals around the room were sleeping. I tried to move, but my body seemed unwilling from sheer pain. Most of the time it came from my neck—it was a stiff, solid kind of pain which, every time I tried to move my head or neck, blossomed and hit me like a wall. It seemed the only way to keep it manageable was to prop my head across a foreleg and stay perfectly still.

Simms saw my discomfort and spoke up. "You okay?"

"Yes," I answered. "I'm just a little achy."

"A little, huh? I don't think I would be able to say the same after something like that. What the heck were you thinking?"

I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. "Who knows. It just seemed like the thing to do at the time." My voice was still coarse, but it sounded much better than it had just before Grant darted me. "I guess I didn't really think it through very well."

"I would have to agree with you there. Grant was right next door to putting you down for good when he shot you. Said he almost shot to kill. And he nearly did it anyways, from what I hear."

"Well, I guess I won't make that mistake again." I stopped for a moment. "...How's that guard?"

"Cray? You did a number on him. Put him out of commission for 6-8 weeks. Broke his arm clean through, and tore up the skin around the break pretty bad too."

"Why doesn't your doctor heal him? You know, use materia to heal him? That would be more economic than 6-8 weeks."

Simms laughed. "He has some strange ethics. Completely averse to using materia for anything other than making his technology work. That's why you're still so hurt too."

"I'm fine." I lifted my head against my will. "I've been through worse before."

"...Well that's good. You're off the work list for the next week, so I guess you'll have an easy time of it for a while. Just don't let Grant know you're fine, or you're liable to get put back on the list."

I smiled slightly, but that too hurt, so I stopped. "Thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

A little while passed, rather uneventfully. But what else could be expected? My body tinged with pain, but I became acclimated to it eventually and felt almost well enough to get some sleep. But as it were, I remained awake in my spot, trying not to move around too much, and not doing particularly well at that.

"You really shouldn't try anything like that again," came Simms's voice a while later. "It looks like yo got away with it this time, but the professor can be a bit temperamental. If you get on his bad side, there's no telling what he might do."

I didn't answer for a moment. "...Seems like there's a lot to worry about around here. But I guess that's a perk of being a secret operation, huh?"

"Just a warning. It's better you don't find out the hard way."

I guess that would make this the easy way then? "Thanks."

2.

The next week passed, and as Simms had said, I appeared to be off the work list. The first day of that week, when Grant came for his shift, had a strange feel to it. Something about seeing the person who had just recently tried to kill me now standing guard over me was... unnerving. Of course, the man alone was enough to agitate me, but... I didn't say a word to him that entire week, instead glaring from between the bars of my cage. Either that, or I slept during the day. I looked forward to night shifts, so that I could talk with Simms about whatever came to my mind. I would almost say we became friends over the course of that week, but in the back of my mind, I always knew that he was helping to keep me imprisoned in that place against my will. Honestly, I don't think we ever could have been friends. Not in that place, and probably not anywhere else for that matter.

In any case, like I said, I was off the list, which meant I didn't have to worry about guards or tranquilizers for the time being. The week took forever to pass, and it was rather enjoyable by any comparison to the week prior. Not to say that it was at all enjoyable being locked in that cage all day, every day; just more so than being shot to within an inch of my life. By the end of those seven or eight days, I felt a little better—it felt like I'd been on a "vacation" of sorts. Which is what made the way it ended all the more disturbing.

The Nibel wolf's cage had been empty during that stretch, but it happened on the last day that it was brought back. I hadn't thought it possible, but the wolf's conditions had worsened. When the guards brought it in and put it in its cage, I could tell something was wrong. Even accounting for the anesthetic, it had a vacant look in its eyes, as though its mind were in a far off place. One of the guards noticed it too. As they put the wolf down, he remarked "jeez, this guy looks bad. I wonder what they did to him."

And maybe it was just me, but those two guards seemed to go out of their way to put as much distance between themselves and my cage as possible. Grant kept an eye on me the entire time. The guards left, and things were quiet. I had expected that within an hour the wolf would come to, but after one hour, then two, and then three, the wolf didn't move except to breathe and blink. Its mouth was open, and over time, a pool of saliva began to form under its head.

After that third hour, the guards returned with an empty stretcher. I could tell from the apprehension in their faces they were here for me. And I was right. They brought the stretcher to the front of my cage, Grant following closely behind, and prepared themselves.

Grant took aim at me with his gun, and said "let's do it right this time, eh?"

I said nothing in response, but I did nothing as well. The guard with the tranquilizer gun knelt down and slowly slipped it between the bars of the cage. I watched the muzzle of the gun silently, paying no attention to the person holding it. He shot and backed away quickly. The dart struck under my head, near my left shoulder, and held fast.

I looked down at the dart and then back out at Grant, who had lowered his gun. "I guess this is the end of my time off, then?" I asked flatly.

Grant half-smiled and let out the same airy laugh I'd heard from him when we first met. "Can you handle it from here?" he asked the other guards. No one really answered. But then, the question was rhetorical, so it wasn't a problem. Grant returned to his post as the guard who had darted me breathed a sigh of relief. Nothing for him to do now but wait.

After a moment, I got up and went to the door of my cage and looked out at the guard. "Hey." He looked over at me. "You didn't have anything to worry about. I'm not a monster, you know." He didn't respond—didn't really look like he knew how to respond to that statement anyway. A short while later, his waiting was over, and my cage was unlocked.

When I awoke, I was still in my cage. My nose was dry, as were both my mouth and my eye. And no matter how many times I blinked or tried to wet my mouth, they remained that way.

"How are you feeling?"

I looked out at Simms, who was at his post. Nighttime. "I'm fine. My mouth is dry, but I can deal with it."

"Oh, I see."

I hadn't noticed it immediately, but the Nibel wolf was still in its cage, in the exact position it had been in before I was taken. It was panting, but beyond that was completely still. The pool below its head was gone, dried up somehow. I spent the night watching the wolf, wondering what, if anything, was going through its mind. Was it afraid? In pain? How long did the night feel to it? At some point, I fell asleep, and the next morning when I woke up, the wolf was gone.

I got to my feet and tried to wet my mouth—it seemed even drier than before, even raw now, and the feeling had spread down into my throat. "What are they doing with the Nibel wolf?" I asked Grant. I don't know why I did. It's not like I was going to get an answer out of him.

Sure enough, Grant only looked over and half-smirked.

Later in the day, the wolf was brought back, and not too long after, I was tranquilized and taken out. It repeated that way daily for several days. Each day my dry mouth worsened, each day Simms asked how I felt, and each day I said I was fine. As things got worse, my voice became raspy, and it got to where it was difficult even to talk, let alone say I was fine.

Then one day a week or so later, the wolf was taken out and wasn't ever returned. I never found out what actually happened to it, but I would lay odds that it didn't come out of that place alive.

When I was brought back to my cage after my daily visit to the doctor that day, the dryness in my eye and mouth began to feel like it was going away. There was no rest though, because taking its place soon after was a stinging, chronic cough that took hold of me and wouldn't let go. At times it seemed I couldn't go more than a minute without coughing. And as was the case with the dry mouth, I was darted and taken out once a day, and the coughing got worse and worse over a period of several days, eventually getting to the point that I could barely speak beyond a whisper because of how raw my throat was. I literally felt myself right next door to coughing up one of my lungs. The entire time, I had a shortness of breath, and what little breath I did have came with a wheezing undertone. Simms asked how I felt daily, and I tried my hardest to say I was fine. After a week with that condition, though, I was physically and mentally drained. Not only from the coughing, though I suppose that was a big part of it, but also from the stress of being darted and drugged nigh on daily. And while I had that cough, I couldn't really get much sleep—every time I got close, it rattled me back to my senses—so that contributed to my fatigue as well.

And then after a week, I began to feel better. For a few days, the darting stopped, and I was left alone to recover, presumably. And I was glad to take the opportunity.

One night shortly thereafter, I found myself thinking again about home. I thought about Grandpa and the other people in the canyon, and what they might be doing at that moment. Sleeping, I supposed. It was nighttime, after all. But were they worried at all about me? I figured Grandpa would be—after the GI War, he took it upon himself to care for me, essentially taking up the responsibilities my parents left behind. After being missing for nearly four weeks now, I was sure he would be worried about me. That's what I convinced myself of. But a lot can happen in a month's time. Maybe everyone in the canyon thought I was dead, and had moved on with their lives... No... that couldn't be the case. They'd at least search for me first.

Grandpa...You'd search for me... Right?

For the first time in a while, and despite my thoughts of home, I had a good night's sleep, and I even remembered dreaming. It was refreshing not being kept awake all night by my coughing. And so I slept and I dreamed. As luck would have it, it was some sort of nightmare. Not terrifying, but a nightmare nonetheless. But in a strange way, a nightmare was better than nothing at all.

I dreamed I stood in a huge, open field which was covered in dry, dead grass. It was night, for I saw up above hundreds of stars twinkling their light down upon me. I remember being struck by the complete absence of sound in this field. One thing which I have come to know well living in Cosmo Canyon is that the planet, when healthy, has a certain sound about it, like a song almost, so that is why this fact from my dream has stuck with me. There appeared to be mountains in the distance in every direction, but no matter how long I ran to try to reach them, they stayed hidden in darkness on the horizon. A long time passed and I was alone in this field. And then up above, the stars began, one by one, to blink out until they had all disappeared, and the only light left was that of my tail. I watched it closely, and I feared in my mind that the flame would flicker out.

I woke up from the dream at that point. Looking around, I saw Simms at his post. Still night. After a while I drifted back to sleep.

…

A parasite, some strange monster; from the bird it comes, soon followed by another. The thunder beats on, though the bird has grounded, raging in the midday sun. And the world, though turned on its side, continues on, not disturbed in the least. My legs won't move under the pull of the earth, and my mind can't think under its own weight.

…Shi…ectr…Com… The bird seems to flaunt several rows of tattoos in its side. ...This is who I am...

I'm moving now, though not on my own. I watch, dazed, as they carry me between them. Into the belly of the bird, and now looking homeward again. So close... Can you see? Grandpa... Can you see? You won't let them take me. I'm waiting... Over the rush of the bird's wings, my home remains silent. Smaller, now, and smaller yet, it recedes into the distance. I'm moving again, now over a shimmering, silvery-blue land. As far as the eye can see, like another world entirely... A figure sits in the shadows next to me and watches me carefully, watches me stare blankly out at a fluid horizon and finally fall into the recesses of sleep.

…

I awoke to the sound of Grant tapping his gun against the bars of my cage. He was bent over at the waist so that he could watch me as he tapped. And when he saw that I had woken up, he stopped tapping and returned to his post.

"Do you have a problem with me?" I asked angrily.

"It's nothing you could fix," he replied in a smug tone.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He tapped the butt of his gun against the floor and said in the same manner, "if you have to ask, you'll never know."

I shook my head at him and then laid it back down across my forelegs. Even when he answered my questions he didn't say anything to me.

Later that day, the stretcher-carrying guards returned and darted me, and when I awoke after that, my body had all but fallen apart. It seemed as though all of my senses had become particularly touchy. I had an unbelievable headache which was so bad that I could not even open my eye to the light of the room. Any and every sound in the room around me pounded mercilessly in my head. My body burned like it had been lit aflame (something like my tattoos had felt initially, only much more intense). The room smelled worse than ever—it was so bad, in fact, that it left a caustic, acidic taste in my mouth. What had they done to me? I groaned a little and made a feeble attempt to sit up, but it seemed my head had anchored me to the floor.

"Jeez, you okay?"

The words hit me like a ton of bricks. "Not so loud..." I half whispered.

It was Simms who had asked. "Headache, huh?" Apparently he hadn't gotten the idea.

I put my forepaws over my ears to try to block out the sound, but it was no use. After a moment, I put my paws back on the floor, lifted my head as slowly and steadily as I could, and opened my eye just a bit so that I could see Simms. The light of the room, dim as it was, was harsh—I had to squint to see.

"...I see what you meant about how difficult enduring this testing would be."

"Are you alright?"

"I think so. I think I'm sick of all this though." I felt worn out all of a sudden.

"Well, I guess that's understandable. But it won't change anything, you know?"

"...Simms, do you have a family?"

"Huh? ...Yeah, I do. Wife and a kid. Why?"

"Just wondering..."

"What about you?"

"No... My parents died in the GI War when I was still young."

"So you've been alone since then?"

"Not really. I've lived with my grandfather in Cosmo Canyon since the war. Well, I used to anyways. It doesn't look like I'll be getting back there anytime soon."

That killed the conversation for all intents and purposes. Simms didn't answer, and the room was left in a peaceful quiet. When I spoke again, my headache spiked, eliciting a grimace from me.

"So what's your family like, Simms?"

"I haven't really gotten to see them much since I took on this job because I sleep when they're awake, and I'm at work when they sleep. But they're a real joy to be around. My daughter—she's three this year—she's a little bundle of energy. Just runs all over the place all day. Too funny."

"...So if you love them so much, why take a job that never lets you see them?"

"We've been low on money for a while now, and this was the only job I could find with my training. I'd do anything to support them.

"Really."

"Yeah. Whatever it takes. You ever felt like that about something?"

Whatever it takes... "My entire life." My head began throbbing shortly after that, so I stopped talking and tried to get back to sleep.

I felt just as bad the next morning, and throughout the day, I got progressively worse and worse. By the evening shift change, even moving my head triggered a sweeping wave of nausea that rushed through me and made the room spin in circles.

Simms tried to ask how I felt, but I didn't feel well enough to answer. Throughout the course of that night, he glanced over at me with a strange look on his face. I can't quite describe it because I wasn't in a good frame of mind. I only know that the thought of that look has stayed with me through the years.

It was a very long night. My maladies kept me awake and dragged out every second of every minute for as long as possible. By the morning shift change I was agonizing. I didn't feel any physical pain. It just felt like my body was failing me. The extreme fiery heat, the headache, the nausea—I felt weak and worn ragged. As the day dragged on in its usual static fashion, I began to wish Grant would come over and put me out of my misery with that gun. But as it were, he only stood in his spot, glancing occasionally at me out of the corner of his eye.

By nightfall, exhaustion had set in, leaving me too tired to move. I just wanted to let go and go to sleep, but...

Simms was quick to point out that I looked really bad. I sat up for the first time in a day to try to talk with him.

"...I'm just so tired now," I managed to get out.

"Don't say that."

"My body burns, I feel sick... You ever get so tired you just want to stop everything you're doing and go to sleep?"

"All the time."

"Yeah...I feel like that right now. It's almost overpowering. I just want to sleep..." I spoke in groaning whispers, because that was all I could muster in my weakness.

"You shouldn't."

I smiled lightly against the pressure of my headache. "I know."

"I never sleep on the job because I know it could get me fired. You know what I mean?"

My smile grew, and I even laughed faintly. "That's a good little analogy there... Gotta do your job, right?" A moment later I whispered to him "thanks... for being a friend through all this. I really appreciate it."

He looked at me from across the room, and looked pained in doing so.

"Don't worry, Simms. I'm not done just yet... Just tired." But I wasn't so sure, myself. I felt something bubbling up within me that wiped my smile away. I tried to speak once, but I could only get out "I'm fi--" before my voice cut out.

I swallowed hard and found myself staring at the floor in front of my feet. I felt some sort of choking sensation in my throat, as though something had jumped up and gotten a stranglehold on me. The muscles in the back of my neck flexed involuntarily, and I weakly tried to shake them out (nausea prevented me from doing it effectively).

Again, I tried to speak, but I could only mouth the words. Suddenly, all of my thoughts felt clouded and muddled. I held very still and tried to concentrate, but my mind ended up revolving around nothing. The muscles in my neck tensed again, worse this time, and would not relax. Like a cramp that I couldn't get rid of, it held in my shoulders and then travelled down my back into my haunches. I clenched my teeth and shut my eye tightly to try and fend it off. It felt like my body was under attack.

But quickly I lost control and found myself on my side in the cage in a confused state. How had I gotten there? I couldn't remember. Had I fallen? What was happening? I had gone limp, but my body was still moving, flailing on the floor. But how? I was aware of my mouth opening and closing repeatedly—I had also gone numb, but I could tell I was biting my tongue. I could not control my movements—it was as though someone else had disconnected me from from my body and was moving my limbs in my stead. I couldn't even control my eye movements. My vision had blurred and would not fix itself.

My eye eventually came to rest staring blankly forward, and I could vaguely see Simms, down on all fours, in front of me with his head pressed against the ground, saying something. His lips moved, but no sound came from them, and I could not make out the words. And then, slowly and smoothly, he, the bars in front of him, and the room behind him all receded into darkness, and I lost consciousness.


	4. Ulterior Motives

Chapter 4

1.

"It's raining again."

"Hmm? Ah, yes. So it is."

Raindrops crashed noisily against the roof of the house and the walls of the observatory.

"I hate it when it rains."

Grandfather looked up from his work at me. I lay on the floor, looking out a nearby window in despair. Water streamed its way downward against the light grey sky.

"And why is that, Nanaki?" he asked.

"I don't know." I paused. "I'm stuck in here, and I don't want to be. There's nothing really to do in here, so when it's raining, it's like I'm trapped and I'm waiting for a chance to get back outside and do something. I feel like I'm in a prison."

"Well I'm glad at least you think so fondly of my house," Grandfather chuckled in response.

"Grandpa," I returned. "You know what I mean. Your house is fine. I just want to do something. To get out and around the canyon—go exploring and see what I can see. And I can't very well do that if it's raining."

"Why not just wait till tomorrow then? Go do your exploring after the rain has passed?"

"What if it keeps raining forever? Then what?"

"Well that wouldn't be good for any of us, now would it?" Grandfather returned to his work with a smile, but he seemed lost in other thoughts. I watched from my spot on the floor, and I knew he was thinking something up to say to me. Before too long, he began shaking his head slowly back and forth, and then he spoke to the air directly in front of him: "Twelve years old and trapped. Ho ho hooo." He spoke to me now. "No, Nanaki, I think the truth of the matter is that you're not half as trapped as you might believe you are. After all, there is no lock on my front door, and you aren't strapped to the floor over there." He smiled. "You're free to do whatever you want."

"But it's raining..." I responded.

"Ho ho hooo. Why should that stop you? It's just water."

"But it's dangerous." Of course, for me back then, mystery still surrounded water and what it could do to the fire on my tail.

"A little water never killed anyone. Your parents were fine with it."

I was silent.

"Go ahead and go on your explorations, Nanaki. Go out and run and see what you can see. You're free to do it."

"Really?" Suddenly I felt excited to go. "You'll let me do it?"

"I don't see why not. There's a lot you can do, even when it's raining. You have to appreciate your freedom while you have it, because goodness knows it can be taken away in the blink of an eye. Your parents..." He trailed off and was done talking on that subject. Knowing nothing at that time about what had truly happened during the War, I thought nothing of his hesitance.

Grandfather moved toward the window I had been watching and peered outside. The sheet of clouds had lightened up some, and there even seemed to be signs the sun was trying to break through.

"It looks like the rain is about to let up anyways. Lucky you, eh Nanaki?" He smiled at me. "You won't even have to worry about getting wet."

I smiled back at Grandfather. "I don't know, maybe I'll just stay inside with you today Grandfather. You're pretty fun to be around all by yourself. I'll go exploring some other time."

"Ho ho ho. That's very nice of you, Nanaki. It's always good to have company."

…

An endless sea of white enveloped me. Like a luminous cloud, it felt hazy and murky under the surface, betraying its seemingly crystal integrity. And out of the fog after a moment, confirming the betrayal, amorphous shapes began to float into sight, shades of grey on the clean slate. They moved to and fro, into and out of the haze, like boats on a lake. I was awake, but not aware. They struck me neither as familiar nor alien, but merely as being there around me. Minutes passed, and the shapes continued on their path, and soon the haze began to lift. The shapes took form, turning into a vast array of machines, and the room around me darkened to a shining metallic silver. In front of me, a man had appeared. He wore a white coat, and was writing on something in his hand.

"...Grandpa..." escaped me in a quiet, sleepy whisper. Still, I was awake, but not aware.

The man looked up at me for a moment, and then continued writing. For some time he stood in his spot, and after that, moved and came close to me. He forced my left eye open with one hand, and with the other, shone a bright light into it. The thought never came to me to squint. I remained relaxed and inattentive on my side. He turned the light away and then went and wrote some more. And while he did so, I started to regain my senses. The first thing I saw was that it was a clipboard on which he was writing.

I tried to move, but I had been fastened to the table on which I was lying by means of shackles around my legs and straps which ran from under the table, up and over my body (one at my neck, one just behind my shoulders, and one right before my hind legs). The man came back and shone the light in my eye again a moment later, and this time I squinted and struggled to get myself free.

"Ah, so you have awoken," he said.

I recognized his voice, but I couldn't remember from where. Instead of responding, I continued silently struggling to get loose from the straps. But they were too tight, and I was unable to get any force behind my movements as a result.

"How do you feel?" the man asked, ignoring my efforts to get away from him.

I stopped—it was pointless—and looked up at him. "Who are you?"

"Hmm...My name is Hojo. You've heard references to 'the doctor,' yes? That's me."

"Why do you have me restrained?"

"My, you have a lot of questions." He watched for a moment before smiling a weak, wicked smile and continuing. "But, if you must know, you were restrained as a precautionary measure, both for your safety and for my own while I investigated the cause of your seizure."

"Seizure?"

"A simple partial seizure... Some tonic-clonic elements... I'm curious. Do you remember it?"

"Yes... I remember something anyways..."

"So you were conscious? Wonderful. Then my diagnosis was correct."

Wonderful? You call that wonderful? Hojo returned to his clipboard for the third time, and began writing. While he wrote, he spoke to me. "This," he began, "is the Intensive Care Ward of my laboratory. Reserved only for when my more important specimens need some assistance. Do you recognize it? You've been here before."

"Do you think you could loosen these straps some? I can't breathe too well like this."

'Hmm... You'll have to forgive me if I decline your request. I haven't forgotten what you did to my private's arm. And aside from that, I'm not sure you have fully recovered as of yet."

"From what?"

"I think I've answered enough of your questions for now. Now let me ask some of you. To begin, answer me the first question I asked—how are you feeling?"

"Uncomfortable. These straps are too tight."

"Are you always so impertinent?"

"Special occasion. I've been living in a cage for a month."

"Ah, but I had heard you made friends with one of my guards?" He smiled in a self-satisfied way.

"No. You're all the same, and there isn't one of you I could befriend."

"I'm sorry to hear that. But we are working toward you best interests, you know."

"You have a funny way of showing it. Maybe I'll return the favor sometime." I was angry at my situation, and Hojo's smile only made it worse.

"...Will you now?" His smile faded away. "Well just a fair bit of warning to you, Red XIII. You should give care to how you show your appreciation. You're important to me at this juncture, but I couldn't care less how you end up. For the moment you can go on and say your share, but you have no guarantees after you've served your purpose." He put his clipboard down on a desk and turned and walked away. "Goodness knows I could use the fun," he said as an afterthought.

I was left strapped to the table on my side. Since my head hadn't been deemed a 'safety issue' by Hojo and hadn't been pinned down as my neck had been, I was left with a little flexibility. I lifted my head as far as I could and looked around. Hojo was alone in an office on the room's far side, but there didn't appear to be anyone else in the room. If I could just get out of these restraints... I made an attempt to bite at the strap around my neck, but no matter how I tried, it was just out of reach. Frustrated, I dropped my head back down on the table and waited for Hojo to return.

My wait was longer than I'd thought it would be. When he came back, he walked right up to me and squatted down so that his face was on my level (and, as were my restraints, just out of reach). "So then, as long as we're being honest with each other, what else would you like to know?" He he crossed his arms on the edge of the table and rested his chin on his wrists.

I sneered at him. "...The question of why I'm here has come to mind a few times."

"Hmm... I suppose you're entitled to know that. But it seems to me that you were already given a mostly adequate explanation by one of my guards some time ago. But to finish it, I'll say that the two of you, you and this girl, are most assuredly connected. Even though you have never met, the two of you are so alike in your situations, you could almost be..." He paused. "But that's not important. What is important is that you both are the last of your kind. The last of two species on the brink of extinction."

"What's your point?"

"My point? ...Do you know what that number on your shoulder means, Red XIII?" He didn't give me any time to answer. "It means you have a second chance. If you behave yourself here, if you go by my rules, you will have the opportunity to save your own species and to help revive another dying one in the process."

The meaning of what he said didn't come to me for a moment, but when it did, I was disgusted. "You're sick."

"Oh? Well, they say that great minds are often misunderstood."

"I'm not interested. If... that's what it takes, then I'll pass on the opportunity."

"Don't you get it? This "opportunity" will never come again. Not in my lifetime, and likely not in yours. If you cooperate, you could even help us to find the fabled Promised Land. You've heard of it, haven't you?"

Yes, I had heard the myth of the Promised Land, but to me, that's all that it was—a myth. A fable. "You should just let me go. I'm not participating in your twisted little experiment."

"Twisted? Oh, no. That's not the right word for it. But anyhow, it's not your decision whether or not you participate. Only how you participate. After all, I don't need you to be physically present to get the job done. I just think it would be... healthier for you if you were to comply. Do you understand?"

I tried to stretch my neck out and bite at Hojo, but I couldn't quite reach him. The effort was, however, enough to startle him—he jerked away and fell backward to the floor before regaining his composure.

"Now now, Red XIII. No need to throw a tantrum. It's only the truth of your situation. And the sooner you accept that, the better off you'll be. Who knows, if you were to decide to be cooperative, I might be able to get you out of that cage and into more comfortable quarters."

I watched as he stood to his feet and stretched.

"Now Red XIII, you seem intelligent enough. Self-preservation would seem to make your decision somewhat easier, don't you think?"

"...Do you have any family, Hojo?" He wasn't going to force anything out of me.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that."

"How would you feel if you were taken from them without any warning or reason, and without your own permission? I don't think that 'cooperative' would be quite an accurate descriptor, do you?"

"On the contrary," he replied. "If my survival depended upon it, I believe I would make some sacrifices."

"It's easy enough to say it," I shot back in response.

Hojo walked back to the desk his clipboard was on and picked up a syringe from a small cardboard box. Taking a bottle from inside one of the desk drawers, he filled the syringe with some kind of clear liquid and brought it over to me, making sure to walk past my head to my hind quarters so that I couldn't see him except out of the corner of my eye if I craned my head back.

"Do you know, Red XIII, that you spoke while you were unconscious after your seizure? You mentioned the name Bugenhagen several times. Your 'grandfather,' you said."

"You should know. Just because he's family doesn't mean he's my relative. It's like you said before—I'm the last of my kind. My real grandfather was killed in the GI War. ...I just wish Gr—Bugenhagen knew that I'm alright." I didn't mean for that last part to be said out loud.

"Then you can rest easy. My laboratory may be under the radar, but I still have my ethics. We informed your village's leader that we had taken you for research purposes when you were first captured."

"So Bugenhagen knows that I'm here?" But why would he just stand by and let them take me? Hojo answered my question as though he had read my thoughts.

"Yes. And, of course, we had to promise your safe return before an agreement could be reached. But accidents have been known to happen, so..." He pushed the syringe into my hind leg and injected the liquid. "...So I really believe it's in everyone's best interests that you cooperate."

"I'm getting tired of your drugs."

"It's your decision..."

"I don't think so. It wasn't my decision in the first place, so why should it be now?"

Hojo didn't answer for a moment. "...Make of it what you will. I can see there is no convincing you."

He walked back past me, discarded the syringe, and picked up his clipboard to resume writing. The drugs began to take effect, and slowly but surely, I drifted off to sleep.

…

Entry Number: 1009572762

Date: 161086 08:13

Project: Red

Class: XIII

Another close call. This specimen seems to have a certain propensity for crisis. Specimen suffered a simple partial seizure with some tonic-clonic seizure symptoms mixed in. According to the report given by private Simms, the specimen was "fine one minute, and then he collapsed." Rapid muscle contractions occurred for a period of five minutes, ultimately leaving the subject unconscious. Private Simms has also reported that while unconscious, the specimen spoke several strings of words (I call them "strings" because they apparently were not coherent or recognizable as sentences). The name Bugenhagen (the leader in the specimen's home village) came up a number of times as did both "Grandpa" and "Grandfather," and Simms claims to have heard a reference to water. Since being brought to the ICW, the subject has continued speaking, though I have only been witness to the name Bugenhagen being spoken, and the subject has not regained consciousness. Because this has happened so suddenly and so soon after the beginning of Mako irradiation, I believe the cause of the seizure can be attributed to a general rejection by the subject's immune system of the foreign Mako particles. As requested by the President, I will send these results over to Scarlet in Weapons Development, and with them, I will include a letter urging her to stay away from my research specimens and out of my laboratory business in general in future scenarios. There would have been quite a price to pay, had I lost my specimen, and I'm sure the President would agree with me on that point.

In any case, for now I am administering anticonvulsant medication to the specimen to counter the effects of the Mako poisoning, and I will observe his progress over the next few days. If all goes well, I should be able to begin skin testing soon.

Addendum: Subject has memory of the seizure, which would seem to support my simple partial seizure diagnosis.

Addendum: Perhaps it was a mistake to let the specimen know the motives behind his capture. At the very least, he seems profoundly unwilling to cooperate. However, if worst comes to worst, AI can be used to accomplish the final goal, eliminating the need for the specimen's presence entirely. However, I believe our internal efforts to earn the specimen's trust are finally paying off, and over some time, I think he will come to stop resisting, and will appreciate the opportunity I am giving him.

END OF ENTRY

…

I was transported while I slept to another area of the laboratory, and the first thing I saw when I came to was Hojo's face peering at me from the other side of a wall of glass.

"Do you feel any better, Red XIII? No more restraints."

That's not my name. "I'll feel better once I'm out of this place."

"Ah, well..." Hojo backed up from the glass wall. "That could be a problem then. You see, it could take years before we actually find the girl we're looking for." He laughed lightly to himself. "For the moment, though, enjoy your space. And feel free to let me know if you start feeling badly." He turned and walked away slowly. "I'll be upstairs. All you have to do is call out. There's an intercom set in the ceiling." Hojo stepped out of sight, and was gone.

I rose to my feet and looked around. The glass wall curved all around me and stretched up to the ceiling, completing a hollow, cylindrical container. No way out from the looks of it. I tapped a claw on the glass, wondering if maybe I could break through by ramming it, but the sound it made wasn't very encouraging. And besides that... Would he hear me if I tried?

About five minutes passed. The room outside the glass was dark and quiet, and it had the distinct appearance of a warehouse to it. Packing crates lay all over the place and were stacked upon each other fifteen or twenty feet high. Hojo had left down a path between two stacks of crates to an unseen area lit by a bright light that rimmed the tops of the stacks in a thin silvery band. To the right of the pathway, I saw a low, domed chamber that had a reinforced metal door on its front with a window set in it. And from the window came a strange reddish glow that beamed down onto the floor a few feet out. Coming out from behind a pile of boxes stacked by the dome, I saw in small block print, the letters O, V, and A.

"...Hojo?" I called out.

A moment passed, and then from the ceiling of my enclosure came a voice. "Yes?" it asked. "What is it?"

Hmm. Apparently he really would hear me. I couldn't even make an attempt to escape, or he'd be alerted. I kept my sights trained on the dome. Something about it...

"Red XIII?" came Hojo's voice again.

"That's not my name," I responded in a biting voice.

"Do you need something?" he said, disregarding my statement.

"...What is in the dome across the room?"

Another moment passed. "Nothing of your concern. Is there anything wrong?" His voice sounded slightly annoyed.

I looked up at the ceiling and smiled darkly. "Nothing at all." Hojo didn't respond. I could probably have made a game of doing this if I wanted to. But that wouldn't have been very civil of me, so I let it go.

That tube was my home for the next few days. Hojo was in and out every few hours to check on me, and I felt decent for the most part. Nauseous every now and then, but decent overall.

I was intrigued by that dome across the room, and spent most of my time watching it. No one ever seemed to go near it—in fact, the few people other than Hojo who walked by seemed to keep their distance from it rather actively. The door was never opened, and as far as I saw, no one even looked in through the window. What could it be? But as it were, nothing was to become of my interest in that dome. Not for quite some time, at least. I woke up one morning back in the confines of my cage.

2.

"So you're back, huh?" Grant seemed about as happy to have me back as I was to be back.

"I guess so."

"Hmph." And that was all that was said that day between the two of us.

Night came, and Simms took over for Grant. And almost as soon as Grant left and the metal door closed, Simms spoke.

"How's it going? Do you feel any better?"

"I'm somewhat nauseous at the moment, but otherwise, I'm fine."

"Professor Hojo fixed you up, did he?"

"I don't know if you could put it that way."

"Oh? Well, in any case, it's good to see you again. When you didn't come back for a few days after that seizure, I thought that maybe..."

"No. I told you I wasn't quite done yet."

"That's true. But you looked pretty bad when you said it."

"...Did I? Well, I'm better now."

"Good."

My first night back was uneventful beyond that conversation. I got some sleep later on, and it was the metal door sliding open that woke me. Shift change, once again. It seemed things were returning to routine after my little excursion. Grant walked through the doorway, exchanged a few words with Simms, and took his position. Simms looked over at me with a strange look on his face, like he was angry or irritated, and then left. Some time passed silently before, to my surprise, Grant spoke.

"So... We really didn't talk much yesterday..."

I glared at him. "And? It isn't like that's anything new."

"Well..." He seemed at a loss for words. "Whatever. How are you doing today?"

I looked skeptically at him. "I'm sick of people asking me that." Was that all he could think up to say? A moment later I added on, "I'm fine."

"I see..." He stopped and smiled slightly. "Simms still talking to you?"

I didn't want to say for fear of Simms getting into trouble. "...Yes..."

He thought for a second. "Good."

"Good? I thought... I thought you didn't want us talking."

"Not my decision, you know? Orders from the professor."

"What?"

"Not that I agree. If I had it my way, you wouldn't be talking with him, but Hojo has all the power around here. And he wants Simms talking to you." The smile slid across his face.

"What do you mean?"

He looked back at the door to make sure that it was still closed and that no one would be listening in on our conversation. "The way I heard it, it's something about compliance. You know, to get you to quit resisting, ripping up soldiers' arms and stuff."

I was astonished. "I don't believe you."

"You don't have to. But truth is truth."

"But isn't it policy that none of you talk with us test subjects?"

"Like I said, I don't like it, but orders are orders. Simms feels the same way. I guess you're a special case to the professor. He needs your cooperation, so we have to make friends."

It seemed a little suspicious to me. "Why tell me this? It's not like you're planning on looking out for me."

"You are right about that. When it comes right down to it, I really don't care what happens to you. But you're the one being kept in the dark in that cage there. I figure there's no more room in there for deception next to everything else you've been dealing with."

I watched him for a moment, half glaring, half squinting. The lingering feeling of nausea reared up in my stomach, distracting me. "...I'm sure." I put my head down across my front legs.

Grant stood silently at his post now, as though he had never said a word to me. Our conversation was short, but the effects were lasting.

I shut my eye to sleep, but sleep didn't come. In light of this, how could it? I didn't want to believe Grant. And why should I? The man had never been a friendly figure to me. He'd tried to kill me not long before. But he was right about me being kept in the dark. Maybe things just weren't as I had perceived them to be. The only Simms I knew was the Simms who lived on the inside of the metal door. Only half the day's worth of him. Only half the man. Who was to say what the other half of him was like? For all I knew, the Simms I saw was a complete fake. Everything he had said to me since I met him came rushing back, and in this new light, some of it troubled me. He'd said he objected to Hojo's experiments, but he'd also said he would do whatever it took to support his family. How far did that extend? Would he deceive me to serve his own purposes? But... He had asked me every day how I felt when I was sick. ...And so had Hojo. Was Simms just keeping tabs on me for Hojo? And as far as that went, how did Hojo know that "one of his guards" had spoken to me about why I was captured? Simms...

Throughout the day, those thoughts plagued me. I couldn't make heads or tails of the situation, and the logic I used to try to work myself through it just drove me in circles. Who could I believe? If I put my trust in Simms, that would mean Grant was lying. And everything I had come to know about Simms and Grant led me to believe that was the case. But if Grant were telling the truth, that would mean that Simms had lied about everything in the first place, and that what I thought I knew was false. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that Grant was lying to me... and also that Hojo was at the root of it all. Somehow, he was giving one of them the motive to lie and deceive me. But without knowing any more, all trying to think through it did was give me a headache.

Night came too soon. I didn't want to see Simms again, but I guess it had to happen. When I looked up, he already stood in his spot, and Grant was on his way out. And not a minute after Grant was gone, Simms dropped his guard.

"How are you feeling tonight?" he asked.

I felt a ping in the pit of my stomach. That question again. "Don't feel like talking." I watched him closely through the bars for a moment, and then looked at the floor. Something about him seemed different now, like I was seeing him for the first time.

"Still nauseous, huh?"

I didn't say anything.

"...Maybe we can get Professor Hojo to help you out with that, you think?"

I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "I'm sure you could," I said in a surprisingly gruff voice.

"What, you don't want his help?"

"He's the one who put me in this place and for more than three weeks had me sicker than I've ever been. I don't think helping me is very high on his to-do list. I'm just on his path to glory."

Simms was taken aback by my comment. Or maybe not. Either way he said nothing.

I continued watching, and I was aware of a spark of disgust burning in me. "The only way any of you can help me is by letting me out of this place."

"But, Red XIII, you know that..."

Red XIII? "...Gotta do you job, huh?" I finished his thought because I knew what was coming.

"I don't want to get myself in trouble, you know? Not so soon after my promotion. They'd fire me."

"Promotion?"

"Yeah, I got promoted while you were in the ICW. Apparently, Professor Hojo thinks I'm doing a pretty good job."

"Apparently."

"I mean, come on, it's higher authority, better pay... How could I not accept it?"

"Just what you're looking for..." I paused. "If it's a higher position, then why are you still here?"

"Well... You know Grant, right? Remember I told you that he's our unit's captain? Well, I guess he used to be anyways. That's me now. Basically, the two of us have switched places. So I'm still here. It's just that starting soon, I'll be here during the day, not night."

Then Grant got demoted? Maybe that could explain it. "Why so soon? You've only been here a few months from what I've heard."

"Who knows? I guess it's just like I said—Hojo thinks I'm doing good."

"You sound happy about all this."

"Of course I am," he replied. "Maybe I'm finally starting to work my way up the ladder. I'm getting some respect..." He seemed to think for a moment. "...And some authority, too."

Just what you're looking for, I repeated in my mind. "But you're still here."

"For now, but maybe soon I'll get out of this place." He was speaking to himself now and beaming a smile the entire time that seemed to shine through the grey haze of the room. "I do hate this room..." The smile faded for a moment, and then returned. "I wish they'd just promote me now and let me free of this place." He laughed at his clever statement while I watched from behind my bars.

Free of this place? Didn't he realize he'd just repeated what I'd said several times? Was he oblivious? Or just absorbed in himself?

"I'm sure you'll get out of here. It's bound to happen eventually. You just have to survive until then...wait for an opening and rip your way through."

"Yup," he said emptily (he was lost in his own imagination, not really listening to me). "I'll get my chance. Hopefully sooner rather than later, am I right?"

I couldn't even look at him now. "Hopefully."

The night drifted on, and I continued thinking. Simms hadn't done anything to clear his own name, but he had given a potential reason for Grant to be lying. And in doing so, he had made it obvious to me that I was alone in that room. Now I could see their motives. Simms had his own "ladder climbing" in mind, and Grant was just plain resentful of Simms's success at his expense. And ultimately, because of this, I couldn't trust any of them. Maybe it was better that way though. At least as long as this was the case, guilt wouldn't get in my way in the future.


	5. The Other Side

Chapter Five

1.

Grandpa told me once that assumptions are for the weak. A blunt statement, sure, but it's what got him to the top of his field. Theories must be backed up by evidence, and those who don't do so are either ignorant or they just don't want to know the truth.

Having been raised under Grandpa's care, I suppose it's only natural that his words and his principles have rubbed off on me. I respected him more than just about any other person I'd met in my life, and so growing up, I found myself really idolizing him. I would try to mimic his behavior, his speech, and his philosophy regularly when I was young—so much so that eventually I realized I didn't have to mimic him anymore because his philosophy had become my own. I took pride in that fact because it made me feel more...adult, more grown up. But even then, when I thought I was so grown up, I was just a child. Inexperienced and untested. It's fine to say you have principles, but when it comes right down to it, when you find yourself backed into a corner, do you stay the course, or do you do whatever has to be done to survive?

What I didn't realize as a child, mimicking my grandpa's every move, is that circumstance changes things for some people. Grandpa's conviction and adherence to his beliefs amazed me and led me to believe that his was the only truth out there. Assumptions were for the weak and only for the weak. But I've learned over the years that "weak" is, perhaps paradoxically, a strong word, and that it's thrown around too much. What worked for Grandpa isn't necessarily universal law because his circumstances were unique. His assumptions may have led to faulty research, thus confirming his words of advice, but my own assumptions played a part in keeping me alive.

2.

A few days after Simms told me the news of his promotion, darting began once again. It was also around this time that Simms and Grant switched their posts. Grant got the short end of the stick in that affair, having to work the full 24 hours once the switch came—his usual 12 hours during the day and then another 12 through the night, all on end. And by the time morning came back around, he looked worn ragged, about ready to drop. Who would have guessed standing around for 24 hours could be so tiring? I almost felt sorry for him. But then again...

It didn't take but a day after the darting and testing began again for the side effects to return as well. Somehow they felt different than before, but I could tell they were still a result of the testing. The first effect I felt was an intense burning sensation in my skin, not unlike what I'd felt when I was first given my ID tattoos, which overheated me and made me pant relentlessly. At times it felt like my skin was boiling hot, melting even, to the point where I couldn't move. I lay panting on my side, hoping that the freezing cold of the floor would keep me from bursting into flames. And in light of recent events, I felt uncomfortable talking to either Simms or Grant about it as I had done before, so my mind was left with nothing to do but to revolve around my affliction.

Over the next several days, I didn't get much sleep, and perhaps as a result of the fatigue that followed, the heat began to wear me down. I found myself doing anything I could to try to get away from it. I remembered one time several years back when it snowed a few inches in Cosmo Canyon, and I tried to focus my mind on that. Grandpa told me that that was the coldest he'd ever seen it in the canyon, and that that was saying something, considering how long he'd been around. It had been below freezing in the canyon for more than a week, so when it finally did snow, I was jumping out of my proverbial shoes to go out and play in it. But it wasn't meant to be, for the snow was reduced to nothing wherever I went because of the heat of the flame on my tail. Too hot... too hot...

Too...hot...

It seemed I couldn't even think about snow without thinking of the heat. ...So maybe something else... But I never realized how difficult it could be to think of something when I tried to force the thoughts into my head. My mind was blank for a time, and then it began to switch over to another train of thought, and I found myself thinking about something which had been floating around in my head for the past few weeks.

Blue...The color blue. Just like that day... The sky, the sea, and the bird from my dreams. No, not a bird. I had realized by now that it was a helicopter, their helicopter, I'd seen , and the pain I'd felt was one of the tranquilizers they so loved to use. I understood all of what had happened to me now, so there was nothing to do but to look ahead. I wondered, would I ever see the cerulean blue of the sky again? Would I ever again walk along the beach and feel the sand underfoot as the waved rolled ashore before me? Would I even see the outside of this cold, metal building? So many questions. And I feared the answer to them all. ...Fear?

What would Grandpa say if he saw me thinking like this? For some reason I couldn't bring myself to think about the answer to that particular question. It was for a week I avoided it before I ultimately resigned not to give up hope. Really, the decision wasn't that hard to make, considering the alternatives. I would get out of that place and return home. But how?

That was something I would have to think about. It seemed to me that all of the pieces were in place for me to make my escape. It was just a matter of working them to my advantage. Simms, the keys, the testing, the white box with the number pad on it... It could work...

The extreme heat I'd felt relented over the next few days, and gradually it was replaced by a dry, itching sensation which covered my entire body. And, as with everything else in that place, the feeling was intense. even my nails seemed to itch. I can remember thinking to myself as this new symptom began its onset, "oh, this is going to be a fun one," in a rather deflated manner. I tried to live with the feeling, but within a few days' time, I'd scratched myself raw. The only way I could get away from it was to sleep, and thankfully unlike before, I was able to do so with relative ease. As much as i could, I slept to pass the time, but eventually even that became a pain. Still, it was at least some form of relief, so I continued to spend most of my time sleeping, and in my waking hours I worked on my escape plan.

One day when I awoke, I found that a soldier had set himself down with his back up against my cage. I could see the ring full of keys at his waist, and, amid the crowd of keys, the one with that familiar triangular handle. If I reached out, I could easily grab it. …But what then? I would have to unlock my cage, and by that time, well... I didn't want to be caught on the business end of any more guards' machine guns. But on second glance I saw the guard was Simms, and the thought popped into my head that maybe he wouldn't have it in him to shoot me. I tried to determine if I wanted to take that chance, eyeing the keys the entire time, but ultimately I found myself unable to act. I think deep down I knew better than to take that chance. Maybe before, but not now.

Simms, finally realizing I was awake, leaned forward and spun around to face me. "Hey there," he said in a friendly tone.

I didn't say anything in response at first—I kept my sight where the keys had been—and then slowly I traced my way up to his face. "What do you want?"

"I... I don't know..."

"You're sitting there... So there must be something you want."

"No... I mean... You haven't said anything since me and Grant switched posts."

"Your point being?"

"Well... I've been thinking. ...And I know why you've stopped talking.

Oh? Do you?

He studied my face and then spoke. "You're scared, aren't you?

Scared? "You think I'm...? I hate to contradict you, but you're wrong on that account." ...I don't think I'm scared. Maybe nervous, but not... scared.

"Oh yeah? You may think you can hide it, putting up that kind of front, but it's obvious."

You have it all wrong, Simms. It's not about me. But maybe... "Obvious, huh?"

"Why else would you have attacked Cray? Why even talk to me in the first place? On the inside, you're just scared. Am I right?"

What is this, a therapy session? "What can I say? You have me pegged."

"Well, let me just say that there's no reason for it, you know. As hard as it may be to believe, we're not here to hurt you. You have to trust us."

This really was therapy. And none too good either. I laughed to myself inwardly but kept a straight face toward Simms.

Rather suddenly, an itch reared up in the middle of my back, and I tried to scratch it with one of my hind legs. But it was so finely placed that I couldn't quite reach it no matter how I tried. Maybe I could give him a test of sorts.

"Hey Simms, lend me a hand. I have an itch right in the middle of my back driving me nuts. Could you give it a scratch?"

"Yeah, sure..." It seemed as though he though that a strange request.

"Thanks." I got up and moved and sat with my back to the front of the cage near him.

He looked at me for a long moment and then started to reach into the cage to scratch the spot I indicated. But before reaching the bars, he hesitated.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"There's nothing wrong," he answered quickly, and with that, he reached his hand between the bars. I got up just before he touched me, however, and his hand jerked back out.

"Eh, it's gone now... Don't worry about it. Thanks though."

"Yeah, sure thing." I could have sworn I heard him stammer a bit saying it. "Just remember, I'm here if you ever want to talk. He got up abruptly, straightened out his uniform, and began walking back to his post.

"Right..." Scared? It looked to me like Simms was being just a bit hypocritical, telling me not to be scared. Just following orders, I presumed. My mind went back to the keys at Simms's waist. They were my ticket out of that cage, but I couldn't figure out how to get to them without Simms knowing... Maybe I could make him work for me somehow. I made another attempt to scratch the itch on my side and then lay down to sleep.

3.

A few more days passed, and I pondered how to get Simms to unlock my cage for me. Any way I looked at it, I would have to wait for an opportune moment before I tried anything.

Grant came and took Simms's spot as night fell one night, and for a while after he came, he watched me closely. He seemed somehow suspicious of me, a feeling which was confirmed when he walked up to my cage to speak.

"What do you have up your sleeve now?" he asked.

"Nothing."

"Don't play me for a fool. I'm not stupid, and I know you aren't either. I see your mind working away at something in there everyday."

"So what? Thinking's about all there is to do in here."

He smiled a bit, but not in the same snide, malicious way he usually did. "Hmm... Looks to me like you're planning something." It was puzzling. The smile looked almost... friendly. "Well, whatever it is, just try not to do it while I'm around, huh? Make life easier for the both of us."

"...I don't know what you're talking about." I couldn't figure out what his angle was.

"Heh. Right, well let's keep it 'don't ask, don't tell' then, all right?"

"...Whatever."

A while passed silently as I tried to comprehend what Grant had said. Planning something? Did he know? No, how could he? Humans can't read minds. But then why would he have said that? I guessed he could have his suspicions about me without actually knowing anything. After all, intuition is a completely different thing. But... Make life easier? What did he mean by that? Would he really let me make my attempt at escape? Maybe I could figure out a little more...

"...Hey Grant?" He looked over at me silently. "What's out there?" I motioned at the mechanical door he guarded. "What's on the other side of the door?"

He smiled again in that same pseudo-friendly manner and then replied "well, let's see... Right outside the door there's a hallway. Following it to the left, there's a branch off the main hall which goes to the stairs. The main hallway dead ends in the lobby at the elevators."

Elevators?

"Usually, they can take a person all the way down to the first floor, but sometimes in emergencies, they'll shut down first floor access from the elevators. Whether they do or not depends on the threat. I don't think they'd do it if someone were attacking HQ because that would trap a bunch of soldiers on the upper floors and make them useless for defense. Not too smart, you know?" He paused for just a second to smile again. "But for say, an escaped lab animal, or some internal emergency on that level, they'd probably shut the first floor down to prevent escape. In that case, the lowest the elevator would go is the sixtieth floor. Then the stairs are the only way down, which is horrible. I should know—I've had to take them all the way up and down more times than I can count for 'training purposes.'" He made quotation marks with his fingers as he said those last words. "Heh... Wouldn't wish that on you or anyone for that matter. I swear, it takes 20 minutes even if you run."

I wasn't quite expecting him to give me a rundown of the entire building, but it seemed that was what he was doing. I guessed it meant he was green-lighting my escape attempt, so I stopped talking, and when he was done, turned to lie down.

A moment later, Grant crouched down and said something under his breath at point blank into my cage so that only I could hear it. "Just remember, don't ask, don't tell. Right?"

Don't ask, don't... "Right."

That night I dreamed of Grandpa. It was one of those dreams where you know who you're looking at, but you can't recall their face or even remember their form. So regardless of how he may have looked, I knew it was Grandpa. He sat alone in a room at a table writing on a pad of paper about something, though I couldn't see the paper, so I can't say what might have been on it. Outside the room, it was raining on a rocky area I recognized as part of Cosmo Canyon. It was strange though; everything outside was cast in shades of black, white, and grey while Grandpa's room could be seen in full color. After a few moments, Grandpa stopped writing, and a ghostly look appeared on his face, stone cold, as if he had died or was looking deep into the ground. I wanted to call his name, but for some reason I had no voice. Grandpa rose from his seat and went and opened a door I hadn't seen before which led out into the rain, but even though the door was open, I couldn't hear the rain hitting the ground outside. He stood there in the doorway for a moment, looking out into the distance as if he expected something unusual to happen, and then without hesitation stepped outside. I could see him through what I vaguely perceived as a window, or maybe a hole in the wall, walking away down a fairly steep rocky path, and I was aware of a strange sense of finality. It felt as though... somehow, that was the end. I don't know how else to describe it. This beacon of life in a faded, rainy world... The end...

I awoke the next day, but I didn't move, not even to open my eye and look around. Something had changed—I could feel it. In the same stagnant air, flat lighting, with the same stinging floor and grim silence surrounding me, something had changed. I felt as though if I were to try hard enough I could see through that place and everyone in it. From somewhere I heard a faint electric buzz, and a moment later something in the wall knocked around, making a dull clank and a thud over a period of several seconds. An animal shuffled around in its cage somewhere to the right of me and then settled into place, breathing slowly and heavily. I listened to the sound of my own breathing for a moment as well. In and out... in and out... I couldn't remember having noticed any animals in the other cages since my first few days in that place, the only exception being the Nibel wolf. And how long had it been since it was last taken out?

I took in a slow, deep breath through my nose, ignoring the scents that came with it, and as I exhaled, I opened my eye up to the room.

There's Simms, I thought to my self. Gun at his side, that uniform, that dead, emotionless face... Does he know? Probably not. I still have the element of surprise. The light on the ceiling seems brighter somehow. Still not bright, but definitely brighter...

I looked around for a moment before something behind the mechanical door caught my attention.

Footsteps? From behind the door? I haven't ever heard those before. Here they come... And there they go... Just passing through, I guess. Down the hall, going to the elevators... or maybe taking the stairs... Yes, It's definitely different in here. Everything looks the same, but it's definitely different. I can feel it.

A powerful itch interrupted my thoughts. I tried to ignore it, but a within a few seconds I was forced to my feet to scratch it. It was high on my neck back near where it ran into my shoulders, so I had to get up to scratch it.

Well, that's still the same, I thought to myself initially. But the itch would not go away as all the other ones had done before. In fact, the more I scratched at it, the worse it seemed to itch. Like a bad mosquito bite, but more intense and less localized. Eventually I stopped for fear of scratching the spot open, and looked into the back of my cage.

Even it seemed changed in some way. It seemed flatter, shallower—like the shadows didn't run as deep. Why did I feel this way? What had caused it?

Before I could answer, SImms spoke to me. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

I paused to think and then answered him, saying "Nothing... Nothing." Is this the end? I could not think at the time why that thought had come into my head, but the mere fact that it had meant there was a reason. "How are you doing today?" I asked.

"Pretty good." He seemed relieved, as though some invisible tension had been dissolved. "I'm not much liking this whole 'get up at the crack of dawn' thing to get to work on time, but you know, it's better than the alternative."

"Better than the alternative..." I laughed lightly. "Right." There was a pause for a moment, and then I spoke again. "So the new job has been treating you well?"

"Mostly. I get the feeling that Grant and some of the others are kinda mad at me though. Grant especially."

"Ahh, I wouldn't worry much about that. They're probably more envious than mad at you. They can see you're moving up the ladder pretty quickly here."

"Yeah, but I think they're mad because I'm doing it at their expense. Grant got demoted when they promoted me, you know."

"Well, just try to remember what it's all for. Try not to think about that other stuff."

"Yeah... Thanks." He laughed a bit. "You know, I even thought you were mad at me too."

I smiled at him through the bars.

We talked more throughout the day, and slowly but surely, we opened up to each other again. Our families came up in our conversation again, which I suppose didn't do me any favors, but somehow or another Simms ended up telling me he would send Grandpa a letter or maybe a postcard to let him know that I was all right. I don't know if he ever did send it though. I never asked Grandpa, and he's not around anymore to tell me. Toward the end of our conversation, Simms made a strange statement which, for some reason, I couldn't make sense of.

"I'm sorry about all this..."

I really wished he hadn't said that—I think it was the one thing I feared hearing him say. And as I heard it, a jolt shot through my chest as though I had been struck by lightning. "What?" was all I could think to say.

"I'm sorry that you have to be here, being tested on and mistreated like this, all in the name of 'science.' I don't know what Professor Hojo hopes to get out of this, but I think he's going about it the wrong way. I mean, there has to be a better way, right?"

I scratched the same spot on my neck for a moment before catching myself and stopping.

"I've seen what you've gone through since they brought you here, and I think it's pretty amazing how you've gotten through it..." He looked at the floor in front of me and then at the cage next to me. "I hope you get back home eventually. I hope you see your family and your friends, and that you can forget all about this place. Just stay strong, and it'll happen, okay?" This whole thing felt like a non sequitur. It just didn't sound right coming from him...

He still couldn't look at me, and suddenly I couldn't look at him either. Why? Why did he have to say that? "Thanks..." was all I said, and I felt guilty saying it.

Fairly soon after that, I was taken out again, and some time later, they returned me. The itching was worse, as I'd expected it to be; by the time Simms and Grant changed their posts that night, I couldn't stop myself from scratching. Steadily the spot on my neck became more and more raw until it hurt more to scratch that it helped. Yet still I couldn't stop.

"What's going on in there?" Grant asked me at one point in the night.

"I don't know..." I said as I scratched at the spot.

"You're gonna drive yourself crazy doing that."

For some reason that statement annoyed me. "I'll be fine..." was my response. A moment later, I stopped scratching and laid down. Not that it helped any.

That was a long night. Every moment seemed longer than the last—the itching got worse. Sometime in the early morning, Grant let out a heavy sigh and then leaned back and slid his back down the door until he was in a sitting position. For a while he sat there with his arms hung over his knees and his weapon grasped loosely around the barrel in his right hand. And sometime after that he slipped into sleep.

Not something for the captain of a unit to be doing, sleeping on duty. But then... maybe that's why they took that job away from him. Still, I had never seen him do this before. I couldn't tell if he was doing this out of depression or apathy, or if he was merely flaunting the fact that he could do it over me.

While he slept, it seemed somehow as though I'd been left to watch over the place and to make sure nothing went wrong. All the other animals were sleeping as well, so really I guess I was the only one keeping watch. And it angered me that Grant was making me do it. I wasn't getting paid for this. It wasn't in my job description. As far as they were concerned, I was just a simple beast, so why leave it up to me? Of course, there was always the possibility that Grant thought more of me than he let on...

In any case, I begrudgingly did keep watch, and while I did, some thoughts came rather involuntarily back to my mind. More of the questions concerning my escape which I hadn't found answers to. I wondered at first about the chance of success for my escape plan. If it were going to work at all, I would have to start the moment Simms came in the door. And then... I'd have to rely on my instincts and a good bit of luck. My mind went back to when I'd had my seizure. Had Simms opened the door to my cage then? I couldn't remember. All I saw were the steel bars and Simms down on his hands and knees, saying something silently to me. I couldn't remember if he had been inside or outside the cage... So much hinged on whether he had been willing to open my door back then, and I couldn't even remember. I could do anything I wanted, but unless I could get him to unlock my door for me, it was all futile. But at the very least, I knew what he had said to me in the past. That they kept him out of the loop on most issues. At least I had that working for me.

"Hmm," was the only sound I made. The puzzle lay before me, and the more I thought that night, the more its intricate pieces began to fit together. There still were a few questions, but at this point in time I figured there was nothing I could do about them. Simms wouldn't help me (at least not knowingly), and I wasn't going to hold my breath that Grant would either. I think the biggest question of all was whether I had it in me to do this, especially after Simms's apology to me, but I knew that night that I would find out soon.

Grant woke up a few hours later and looked around without much moving his head. A yawn took hold of him, and perhaps by mere coincidence, I yawned a few seconds later. After a moment more of sitting in his spot, Grant rose to his feet and resumed his guard duty as though nothing had happened. And not long after that, it was show time.

4.

Simms came through the metal doorway, in effect kicking off the day, and as he did so, I made sure to sprawl myself out flat on the floor. Don't move, I thought to myself. The itch on the back of my neck reared up again, painful more than anything.

I heard Simms say to Grant a couple seconds later that he couldn't believe it was still raining outside, that Midgar had a real flood problem on its hands, especially in the slums, if this were to keep up. A quick glance at him proved his statement correct—his uniform was heavily speckled with wet, darker spots of blue where he'd been hit by falling rain.

"I heard it's supposed to let up by the end of the day though," Grant responded, somewhat coldly.

"Hmmph," was Simms's response, and with that, Grant left.

I was surprised at myself. I had done nothing, and already my heart rate was up. I wondered if Simms could tell...

"Hey, you okay?" he asked after a short while.

"Not so loud..."

"You have a headache again?"

"Yeah..." I put a paw over my left ear and eye to block out as much as I could.

"Came on pretty quick, didn't it?"

My heart jumped. Had he accused me? Or was he just asking the question? I groaned a bit and muttered "unpredictable..."

"No kidding. Well, just relax. I'm sure it'll go away eventually."

I swallowed hard and said "I have this... acidic taste in my mouth..." I was trying my hardest to remember what had happened last time, but it was difficult... Last time, it had actually happened; my mind had been in a fog for weeks before it happened, so it was all a blur to me. But what I said seemed to have sparked his interest.

"Acidic... taste..." he repeated to himself. There was a look in his eyes as though he were thinking back as well, trying to recall something, and when he finally remembered, he seemed a bit more concerned with how I felt. "What else?"

I made sure my eye was shut tight as I spoke. "..What do you want... symptoms?"

"Yeah, something like that. What else are you feeling?"

I took in a slow, deep breath and spoke. "I don't know... I have sensitivity to light... hearing..." What else, what else? "My entire body is burning... It's hard to describe..." I sat up slowly because the itch on my neck was next door to driving me insane, and scratched it for a brief moment. Then, pausing for a moment with my head turned down to the floor, I thought on what to do next. ...Nothing... Slowly I made my way back into a reclined position, and upon reaching it, let out a heavy sigh.

A question came to me as I laid there. Why was I doing it like this? Pretending to be sick. Was this how my mother would have handled it? And Grandfather? It wasn't the way of a warrior, but... There wasn't any other way. It probably wasn't going to work anyway—there was no way it would work like the last time—but I had to try.

I lay there for most of the rest of the day in that spot thinking those thoughts, rising only once in a while to scratch my neck, and I could tell Simms had been drawn in. He watched every movement in my act closely from his position by the door. Once again I wondered whether I would have it in me to do what I needed to escape, and for a few moments that day, there even was a feeling of slight hesitation in me. I wished I had more time to think, but I knew in my heart that it was now or never, and the day was ticking away, regardless of any moral dilemmas I might have had.

Some time in mid-afternoon, I was tranqued—it seemed to take longer for the drugs to kick in—and taken out, and I worried Simms would not be there when I got back. Thankfully though, he was there, and upon seeing him, I continued my performance.

"...What time is it?" I asked from my side.

"It's about... 16:00 hours right now."

Only a few more hours...

"You feel any better?"

I took in a breath, held it, and then exhaled. "No... Not especially." The floor was cold, I finally realized. It had surely been that way all day, but this was the first I had noticed of it. The itch on my neck was worse than before—it burned now too in addition to the usual painful itching. Scratching it caused nothing but pain. I flipped over on my side at one point so that the spot was pressed against the floor. I hoped that that would help, but it only intensified the stinging as a result.

So for the most part, I just laid there and stared blankly ahead, and about an hour and a half later, I sat up. In the flat light of the room, I found I couldn't see Simms's eyes. Strange... Had it always been like that? For some reason I couldn't remember. Had I ever seen his eyes? I felt like I'd suddenly been blinded, and perhaps as a result, I began to panic. I had to get out of there.

Almost immediately a sharp stinging arose in my neck, breaking my thoughts. I snapped to attention, and as quickly as possible, went to scratch it. It didn't feel good, scratching the spot, which is obvious to say, considering how raw it already was. However, I couldn't make myself stop—it was like my leg moved of its own volition. After a moment, the stinging erupted into intense pain, and when I brought my foot back , it was wet with blood. I let out a slight grunt of pain as I saw it, which brought Simms's attention to me.

The first thing through my mind as I saw the blood was a mixture of shock and horror—I thought for sure I'd ripped my neck wide open. It only lasted for a split-second, but the adrenaline it produced instantly helped numb the wound. After that split-second, another thought crossed my mind: this was my chance. This was what I had been waiting for.

I glanced over at Simms with a slightly concerned look and almost immediately fell onto my side. My head slammed against the floor, harder than I'd wanted it too, as it were, but I figured it would help sell the image. Reaching back to everything I'd tried to remember. I began by flicking my legs back and forth with quick, fairly regular muscle contractions. I did essentially the same with the muscles in my abdomen and my tail and also made sure to open and close my mouth in the manner I remembered. I even ended up biting my tongue, as it had fallen between my teeth when I fell to my side. Hurt a bunch more than I remembered, but I didn't dare stop.

A few seconds passed, and the only sound I could hear was that of myself, writhing on the floor of my cage. Those seconds dragged on for an eternity—my heart felt like it was about to explode. I felt foolish; there was no way Simms had fallen for it. My mind had already begun working out a way to end my "seizure" and regain consciousness when I heard Simms's voice from across the room.

"Oh jeez—" was all he said at first, and then I heard quick footsteps coming toward me and the sound of his weapon, which he had dropped by the door, as it hit the ground. A moment later, I could see him on his hands and knees in front of me, looking in with concern. Just like last time... "Can you hear me? Red XIII, can you hear me?"

I bit my tongue harder in response to it, but beyond that, made no acknowledgment of his question.

"Oh man... Uhh... hold on." He stood up so that I could only see him from the waist down and grabbed his walkie-talkie from his side. "Hey, is anyone there?"

A second later a voice responded. "Yeah, who's this?"

"This is Simms in C5. I need someone up here quick. Red XIII's having another seizure. I uh...need someone to get up here." Simms spoke so quickly that his sentences began to run together.

"Roger that Simms. I'll let Professor Hojo know, and I'll send someone your way to pick the specimen up."

Simms knelt down and looked back in at me as I continued my convulsions. "What's the ETA on that?"

"Five or ten minutes," came back over his radio.

"All right." He replaced the walkie-talkie at his side and sat down in front of me.

The thought went through my mind that Simms wasn't going to open the door of my cage. My earlier fears had been confirmed... I thought ahead and tried quickly to devise a backup plan. Maybe... after they take me out, while I'm on my way to Hojo... but they'll tranquilize me before they take me. Though maybe not, if they think I'm already unconscious.

It was then that the memory came back to me that Hojo had said I'd spoken while I was unconscious last time. Another symptom which I could add to Simms's list. After continuing the seizure for another moment, I shut my eye and stopped moving. I even held my breath for several seconds, which gave me a good chance to listen to the racing pulse of my heart in my ears. I was about to mumble Grandfather's name (as Hojo had told me I'd done) when I heard the unmistakable jingling of Simms's keychain. So he was opening the door after all! He must have been waiting for my seizure to end. Now to wait...

The jingling stopped momentarily, and then came the sound of the key being pushed into the lock. A second later the door was opened.

I held deathly still, fearing any movement would send the door slamming shut. After a few more seconds, I felt Simms's hand probing the topside of my neck. It was strange—two fingers and a thumb up, the other two fingers down—like he was checking me for a pulse. His hand moved along the topside of my neck and then, apparently finding nothing (regardless of how high my pulse actually was), moved around to the underside. There, he continued in vain to try to find my pulse.

He poked around for a moment more, and then out of nowhere, when his hand was the farthest back under me, the switch flipped. I snapped to my feet and in a split-second had my jaws around his neck. He fell onto his back in the middle of the room, almost like he'd been catapulted off his feet, and I followed, ending up standing firmly on top of him. As he hit the ground, something flew out of a chest pocket in his uniform and skittered across the room. I paid no attention to it, instead trying my hardest to focus on the matter at hand. The other test animals in the room had picked up on the excitement and were, just as they had when I attacked Cray, rattling their cages and making indescribable screeching and howling sounds which hurt my ears. Simms struggled underneath me, his arms and legs scrambling in every direction, but by virtue of my weight advantage I easily had him pinned. It took a moment, but I realized he was reaching out for his gun near the door. Couldn't get to it. Even so, now that I could see what he was trying to do, I dragged him a bit farther away from the door and from there, continued to hold him down.

After a moment, he stopped flailing and pushed both his hands into my neck in an effort to force me off of him. The animals around the room quieted down, and as they did, I became aware of a strange clicking sound coming from Simms's throat. He was looking at me, I realized, with a strangely placid expression on his face. Neither of us moved, him because he couldn't, and me because I simply didn't know what to do next. In all of the worrying about whether Simms would open the door or not, I'd lost sight of what I'd actually have to do to get out. And now, confronted by that fact, I couldn't move. I couldn't let go of him or else any chance I had of escaping would be gone, and I couldn't bring myself to bite down because...

As he looked back up at me, I saw his daughter and his wife, playing together in a grassy field. I saw them crying at learning that he had been killed. And I saw his apology to me, just the day before. What now?

The taste of blood stung in my mouth. I'd already wounded him. I wished it would stop. I wished I could stop, but there was no way to take it back now. I looked back down into Simms's eye and tried to apologize to him. And then I clenched my eye shut, took in a breath through my nose, and bit down as hard as I could. No pain. ...No pain...

There was a quick tearing sound, followed by a dull crack, and then Simms's eyes went vacant. The clicking sound coming from his throat stopped, and I immediately let go of him and stepped down off his chest. His arms, still pressed into my neck, followed for a second, and then they fell flat to the ground. From a few feet to his side, I watched silently. All I could see in my mind's eye was the face of his little girl. The bite wounds I'd left on him bled steadily, trailing down and around his neck to the ground. A puddle began to form under his head. Such a stinging, sour taste... Why wouldn't it stop? HIs eyes were still open, relaxed, looking up at the light in the ceiling, but it didn't look like he was breathing. Was he dead?

The word "dead" repeated over and over in my head as I looked around the room. "What next," I said to myself. "What next..."

I remembered the object which had fallen from his pocket. Where had it gone? I searched the room aimlessly for it, and eventually I happened across something near the metal doorway. ...Materia... I walked up to it and inspected it for a moment. Some sort of support materia from the looks of it, but without using it, there was no way to tell exactly what kind it was. I removed my clip from my mane and placed the materia next to a fire materia which I'd had since I was too little to use it. Glancing back over my shoulder at Simms, I replaced the clip in its spot atop my head.

Now... How to get out of here...

The white box on the wall stood silently, waiting for me to find it, and when I finally did, I made my way over to the wall and reared up on my hind legs to examine it. Three rows of three, one through nine... And I only needed six of them. What was it?

"Six...four... seven..." I paused. I couldn't remember any more of it. Was it an eight? The last digit was a one—I was pretty sure of that—but the other two... I swallowed hard; the taste was still there, distracting me. I couldn't think. Yes, it was an eight. I pressed the buttons as I spoke them. "Six, four, seven, eight..." I tried to picture the guards pressing the buttons. Six-four-seven, eight... The guard's hand moved around the pad. And from the eight... back to the six. I typed in the six and the one and dropped back down to all fours, expecting the door to open. But it didn't.

I looked back up at the box and the rose to make a closer inspection. What was wrong? There was no Enter button. No screen to say if I didn't enter it correctly... I pressed the buttons again, and again the door didn't open. Was the code I'd remembered wrong? One last time I tried punching it in. No luck.

Once again, doubts as to the possibilities for the success of my plan arose. I backed down from the wall and sat facing Simms. All I could do now was wait. Maybe I could surprise the guards Simms had called in for backup and get out before they had a chance to react. Then it would be to the left to the elevators and down and out of the building.

But for now... Simms lay in the exact position I'd left him. The puddle of blood had grown a bit, but beyond that it was all the same. Around the room, the other test specimens watched me quietly. It felt like hundreds of eyes were watching from the dark, witness to what I'd done. Or maybe they wanted my help. I eyed the keyring hanging in the door of my cage.

...I can't. I can't...

I sat there for the next few minutes waiting, and then the sound of footsteps coming down the hall grabbed my attention. I lined myself up along the wall next to the door and crouched down to prepare myself. The footsteps stopped a few steps later. I could tell they were right outside. No pain. No pain. I repeated it to myself. A couple more seconds passed, and then the door slid open. One guard stepped through, carrying one end of a stretcher behind him. A second guard held the other end outside. I couldn't see a machine gun on the first guard from my spot along the wall, so I didn't move.

He spotted Simms lying on the ground after a step or two into the room, at which point he said something along the lines of "What the..." and jumped to check on him. Both guards dropped their ends of the stretcher—it hit the floor unevenly and bounced a couple times to a halt.

As the second guard entered the room, I made my strike, lunging forward and grabbing him around the neck like I'd done to Simms. He went tumbling to the floor, causing his gun—a machine gun—to get loose and slide away. I didn't give him a chance to struggle, clawing away on either side of his neck and ripping from the spot I'd bit down on.

The other guard, who had had his back turned as I began my attack, was caught completely by surprise. He was so startled in fact that as he wheeled around to see what had happened, he slipped and fell onto his back. As I turned to face him, I saw he was struggling to get something free from his belt. I took a step toward him before realizing that it was a tranquilizer gun he was reaching for. He had it out and pointed at me before I could make another move. We both were frozen for a moment. He had fear in his eyes, which I suppose wasn't surprising considering how I must have looked at that point. I tried to make the first move, making a quick attempt to get to him and swat the gun away before he fired. I succeeded in swatting the gun, but by the time I did, he had shot and hit me right in the middle of the underside of my neck. Another quick swat across the face was enough to lay him flat on the ground next to Simms. I scratched the dart from my neck and ran from the room just as the metal door was closing.

Outside I stopped for a moment. I couldn't believe I'd been careless enough to be darted. It was a race against time now. I figured I had a few extra minutes because of the adrenaline rushing through my veins, but I knew I had to move. Looking right and then left down the hall, I set off running to the elevators. The fear I felt was driving me forward. I pushed my body to run faster than I physically could, as though some unrelenting and ever-advancing invisible force were in pursuit. Past the branch leading to the stairs, and a second later I arrived. There were two doors next to each other, each with two buttons by it. Up and down. I pressed the down arrow on the left elevator. A mechanical whirring sound began as I checked over my shoulder to see if I was being followed. The hallway was clear as far as I could see. No one had followed me. The sound of a bell ringing returned my attention to the door. The button I'd pressed had lit up and the whirring had stopped. I eyed the crack between the doors on the elevator, impatient for it to open. Finally it did, and as the doors slid apart, bright warm, orange-red light poured through. I was taken aback by it at first—I hadn't even adjusted to the bright light of the hallway since escaping from the holding quarters, so this light nearly blinded me. I squinted and entered the elevator, and the doors closed calmly behind me.

I found myself bewildered, looking out on a fiery sunset over a sprawling metallic city. Down below, hundreds if not thousands of lights, a veritable sea of lights, shone forth, preparing for the night to come. And it didn't look too far away. The sun shone from a clearing in the clouds way off in the distance on the horizon, shooting rays of burned orange along the underside of an otherwise dark, gloomy sheet of clouds. It was raining, even now—not very much, but it came in huge droplets which lit up like a prism when they fell in front of the sunset. I had paused only for a second's time, not even enough for my heart to stop racing, but I took in and committed to memory every detail of what I saw outside that elevator. I'd never seen anything quite like it before. Regardless of the circumstances, I found it breathtaking.

In an instant, my attention came to a podium standing to my right in the elevator. On it were multiple buttons labeled from 69 down to 60 and below those, a button labeled "1." I pressed the button for the first floor, but nothing happened for a second. Then a voice, that of a woman, came from the side of the podium:

"Access to the first floor from administrative levels has been restricted to employees with level 4 or higher authorization. Please present your identification."

"What?!?" Would nothing in this place work for me? Someone must have pulled an alarm. Probably that soldier I left back in my holding quarters, I thought.

I pressed the first floor button again, hoping for something different, but the woman repeated her message to me, this time adding on that "if you do not have proper authorization or have misplaced your identification card, please return to the 60th floor and take the stairs to your desired location. We're sorry for the inconvenience."

"I'll bet you are," I retorted inadvertently. I still had a bad taste in my mouth, and I was aware of a wet ring of blood all the way around the end of my snout. It bothered me, but this wasn't the time to fix it.

I didn't want to take the stairs, especially if what Grant had said—20 minutes to get down—was true. I would never last that long now that I had been tranqued. But I didn't have many options to choose from, so I pressed the button for floor 60, and the elevator sprung into motion.

I half-expected as the doors slid open to come face to face with a throng of guards, thus ending my escape, but to my surprise and even a bit to my disappointment, they opened on an empty lobby-like area. It appeared, regardless of the first floor restriction and any alarms which had been tripped, that they didn't look at me as being much of a security problem. I stepped out into the lobby, and the doors closed behind me. It was much brighter in this room, even more so that it had been upstairs, but I had adjusted to the light of the sunset so I no longer needed to squint. There were what appeared to be two exits from this room—a wide stairwell to my right and a fire door across the way on which hung a picture of a human descending a set of five steps. Another stairwell it looked like.

I took a step forward and a few steps to the right. No... That stairwell looked like the "front door" to going down. The one behind the door seemed like a better choice in terms of armed resistance, so I took that path instead. After fiddling with the door handle with both my front paws for a moment, I pushed open the door and walked through.

The stairwell was skinny, dimly lit, and fairly steep, going 12 or 13 steps down, twisting around 180 degrees, and continuing downward. I looked over the railing to see just how far down the stairs went, and as I did, my heart sank. As far down as I could see, there were stairs. Step after step, level after level... Thirty of forty floors down, everything faded into black—the lights were too dim to allow me to see any farther.

"There's no way..." I said. I began, almost on cue, to feel the effects of the tranquilizer. My neck had suddenly gone numb, and I could feel it beginning to move around into my shoulders and the upper part of my front legs. The beginnings of drowsiness had set in as well.

Without another word, I pulled my head back from the railing and broke into a dead sprint down the steps. One flight, and then another, and another, until I'd completely lost count of what floor I was on. It was hard to tell I was making any progress at all. Floor after floor came and went, coming and going in the darkness, and after 30 or so floors, each one began to look progressively more like the last. The only way I could tell time had even passed was from my shortness of breath and the creeping numbness which had crawled down my back and into my hind legs. By this point it took some concentration to keep myself running—concentration which, as the drowsiness intensified, became exceedingly difficult to keep. But I pressed on.

Grandpa's image ran through my head. Looking out the open doorway through the rain, that strange ghostly expression on his face. What was it for? My mind sidetracked to try to find an answer to that question, and for some time—I don't know how short or long it may have been—I was lost in thought. And then suddenly I saw saw Simms's body lying on motionless in the middle of the floor, bleeding out into the darkness. The image was enough to jerk me back to attention, and at almost the exact same moment, one of my front feet, now completely numb, tripped over a step, sending me staggering into the wall on the landing in front of me. I bounced off it somewhat, just barely managing to keep my legs under me, and stood in my spot for just second to collect myself.

I was wobbly, swaying back and forth on my feet. It felt like if I were to try to take a step, I would fall down, but somehow I managed to stagger my way over to the inside rail of the stairs. Peering over the edge, I realized just how drowsy I'd become. The stairs and everything else below bent and bowed before me as though I were looking through some sort of funhouse mirror. I could barely keep my eye open to see, but in the darkness in the distance below, I was aware of some form or box shape anchored right in the middle of the stairwell which had a red blinking light on it.

The ground floor! It must be!

I started down the next set of stairs. My legs were nearly unresponsive, but step by step, I ran down as fast as I possibly could.

...Almost there... I was excited, but oddly, my heart beat had slowed near-nothing. Why was that, I wondered to myself.

And that was my mistake. That split-second loss of concentration, thinking about my heart beat and not about keeping myself going. As I rounded the corner to descend the next set of steps, all four of my feet slid out from under me, and all at once I collided with the wall and spilled over the edge of the steps. Just as before, I bounced off the wall after hitting it, but there was no stopping myself this time. My momentum kept me moving forward. Down, down, and down I fell, tumbling awkwardly down what seemed like an interminable set of steps to the landing below. Upon hitting it I skidded into a stack of some sort of supplies lined up against the wall—I didn't get a good look at them so I don't know what they were or why they were there. The entire stack came toppling noisily down on me, leaving me pinned under its weight. Some sort of red cloth fell over my face, rendering me all but blind. All I remember is that it had the same bad smell that I'd become acquainted with in the holding quarters.

"No...no..." repeated over and over again in my mind.

So close to freedom, but my legs wouldn't move. I was completely immobilized. The tranquilizers had taken hold and left me too weak to get up.

"...help..." I managed to call out meagerly. But no one answered.

I could see nothing but red. It was a strange, translucent color, like a piece of red tissue paper more than anything. A bit of light shone through from somewhere above, soft, diffuse. I listened to the sound of my breathing for a moment. In... and out... Inhale... exhale... A steady beat... Slower... and slower... Very quickly, and much to my dismay, the rhythm lulled me to sleep.

5.

…

Entry Number: 1009610332

Date: 021186 21:08

Project: Red

Class: XIII

How infuriating. Specimen attempted escape at approximately 17:30 hours today, killing one guard and severely injuring another in the process. Fortunately, a third guard managed to get a tranquilizer into the specimen so as to subdue him with relatively little additional damage being done either to the project or the work force within the building. Additionally, the guard was able to trip a silent alarm from within the holding block, preventing the specimen from reaching the first floor via the elevators (records show that the specimen did access the elevators, so the alarm was most certainly not tripped in vain). It is unclear to me at this point how the specimen got loose in the first place; however, Captain Simms's keys were found inserted into the cell door.

As it stands, Red XIII was found unconscious at the base of the eighth floor stairwell under a pile of cleaning supplies. There is no telling how far he may have gotten had he had use of the elevators, especially considering the fact that I was under the impression at the time that he had suffered from another Mako-induced seizure. After being recovered, the specimen was brought to me for a cleaning and examination to check for injuries. None were found except for a self inflicted neck wound which stitched up nicely. It's somewhat surprising. I would expect something like this out of one of the lesser test specimens, but with this one... It would appear that even an animal as intelligent as this one is susceptible to its baser instincts, given the right circumstances. ...But perhaps it will all work out in the long run. After the exam, the specimen was transported downstairs to the elevator pad, where he will remain for further observation.

...I'm at a loss for what to do about this situation. It seems at this point that there is no one, excluding myself of course, who isn't utterly incapable of handling this specimen. ...Maybe I made a mistake demoting Grant last month. Regardless, it is quite apparent I can't let a project of this high profile fall into incompetent hands. Therefore, I am placing myself in charge of his containment. He has manipulated the circumstances to his favor for the last time. So for the foreseeable future, Red XIII will remain on the elevator pad. I'm not sure what I will do with him on the long term scale though, be it keeping him there or moving him to a higher security holding area—it all depends on the workload my other projects present me.

...How infuriating this all is. I have enough to do without having to file reports for the president and paperwork for the dead. But, as always, I will persevere. The end result of this project will be quite worth the effort.

END OF ENTRY

…

So... Here I lie... I didn't make it... After all that... I didn't make it...

It was a shattering thought, one which both tore me to pieces and at the same time enraged me. All for naught. All of that work just to land me back where I began: lying alone on my side on a cold metal floor. In front of me, my reflection lay on its side as well, watching me silently. It was... frustrating.

...This place again... The glass cage.

One of my back legs was asleep, still numb from the tranquilizers. I wanted to get up and throw myself through that glass wall, I was so angry, but I knew it would be for nothing. There was no escape from this place; I knew that now, so I remained still on my side, watching my reflection breathing.

I wouldn't say I had been broken, but I knew for sure my chance at escape had come and gone, and I had failed. There was no point in trying anymore—the circumstances would never align themselves again as they had done for me with Simms and Grant...

"...Hojo?" I called out, looking up to the ceiling.

There was a pause, and then came his voice from the intercom. "Yes? What is it?"

I didn't respond.

I was sore, but not particularly hurt, from my fall down the stairs, so the next few days were more or less devoted to recovering from that. Life inside the glass cage was relatively quiet, and by any comparison to my previous quarters, it was luxurious—no unspeakable scents, decent lighting, and so on. It gave me time to clear my mind, to think lucidly for what felt like the first time in ages.

I still felt guilt several days later for what I'd done to Simms, and I figured that would never go away completely. I wondered if he was all right. What had happened to him after I left? He'd probably have to take some time off to recover from his wounds. Give him a chance to be with his family. Maybe Grant would take back over while he was gone. Captain for a month, maybe. Or maybe... The image of Simms on his back in the holding quarters shot through my mind again. ...It was all speculation, of course. I never saw or heard from either Simms or Grant again, so there was no way of telling. Still, I couldn't stop thinking about it for a long while. This room offered little but near-complete isolation—just Ova and me—so I heard very little about anything at all aside from the occasional sound of Hojo checking in on me via the intercom. Nothing else ever seemed to happen.

And yet somehow, day by day, week by week, time began to pass, slower and slower yet, until I could no longer say how long I'd been there. Test after test was performed, and before long I paid no heed. I shut myself away. A year could have passed for all I knew, but time was no longer important because there never appeared to be any end in sight for my captivity. And at that point in time, the end truly wasn't in sight. It wouldn't be until I'd come to accept my captivity and status as a research specimen, until I'd nearly forgotten what my true home and those who lived there looked like—nearly two full years living in my glass prison—that I would finally see myself freed from that torturous place.


End file.
